


A Matter of Trust  (WW2)

by englishrose2011



Series: Garrison's Gorillas [1]
Category: Garrison's Gorillas, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Hurt/Comfort, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Threat of Rape, Violence, Warning for sexual assult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishrose2011/pseuds/englishrose2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig Garrison finds himself a murder suspect when Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg arrive in war torn London to look into the murder of several women by an american serviceman.<br/>Complicated by the arrival of another team, and Chief's need to bond with his guide.<br/>The war just got a lot more dangerouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 1947

**Author's Note:**

> In the 1990’s I saw a documentary about war time crime in London. In the course of the programme, the broadcasters related the crimes of a serial killer who strangled women in Air Raid shelters. The murderer was caught and executed for his crimes. Years later this program was to be the base of this story. 
> 
> My thanks to Izzie and Luv’es Fiction, without you this story would never have been written. Any mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Garrison’s Gorillas was created by Mr Playdon for ABC

August 1947

 

General Richard Edwards looked across the room at G13, his specialist unit. What was the old saying?  “War is hell, but the peace will kill you.”  Very apt.  Berlin was considered the most dangerous city in the world; take a turning down the wrong street and you could end up face down in the gutter, a knife in your back. The old gangsters of the roaring 20’s in Chicago had nothing on the Black Marketers that were operating in the ruined city.  German, English, American, Russian, take your pick, any of them could send you to an early grave.  The corruption and decay seemed to inhabit every part of this city; but his newly formed G13 could make a difference.

 

He studied his team of seven, eight if you counted the Professor.  There was something special about them.  Two of them were sentinels and two of them guides. To begin with he hadn’t believed the sentinel voodoo, men with enhanced senses that made them the ultimate soldiers, guides a steadying influence that helped the sentinels apply their senses without tumbling into a black void that could kill them. A pairing joined by something called a bond, a living force, the Professor had told him again and again.  It was what propelled the sentinel into what one of his men, Dr Blair Sandburg, called the blessed protector condition, where the sentinel was beyond logical or civilized conduct.  They would tear a man apart with their bare hands to save their guide, and in that condition only their guide could control them.

 

The General studied the men.  Major James Ellison, ex-cop and one of the best investigators in the old G2 unit, was standing over a map, deep in tactical argument with Lieutenant Colonel Craig Garrison, a West Point graduate, the best Commando officer he had had the privilege to command.  Garrison had taken a bunch of convicts and trained them into one of the top and most unorthodox commando groups of the war. Hell, he had surprised the brass by surviving; most of them thought he would be dead first time out, with either a bullet or a knife in the back and his men disappearing off into the horizon heading for a neutral country.

 

Handing his sentinel a cup of coffee was Dr Blair Sandburg, one of the smallest men in the room at 5 foot 9; he wore no uniform, still remaining a civilian, a highly respected academic, and Professor Faulkner was his mentor. He was, Edwards smiled fondly, one of the most hyperactive people he had ever met and for a man who didn’t like violence he never hung back, in a fight he was a good man. Finally the last remaining Sentinel.  Dark-haired, he moved with the grace of one of the big cats.  His eyes were on Garrison, the officer glanced across, nodded to the sentinel as if to confirm that everything was alright and then turned back to the tactical argument with the other senior officers. 

 

One day, Edwards mused, when all this was over and he had retired back to his family home in Washington DC, he was going to have to write a radio show about this. Only who would ever believe a story about a man with enhanced senses called a Sentinel?

 

1938

 

Blair Sandburg was a pacifist. He had spent his early life with a mother who followed the free love ideals of the Bohemian set of the 1920’s, and had had a number of different men filling the role of father.  None of them had stayed long. Some had been damaged by the Great War, both in body and soul, and so he had pledged never to take up arms in any conflict. Nothing could be worth the damage he had seen inflicted on those men made old before their time.  Blair had joined Rainer University at 14, and had soon gained a BA, and MA, then his PhD; he had followed the work of Richard Burton, the Victorian explorer and politician. He had recently returned from Peru, where he had tried to find a living example of his thesis topic. Reluctantly, Blair had parted company with one of his mentors, Dr Kurt Warner, and they had separated with bitter words, no longer able to ignore what was going on back in Germany, and the need for Dr Warner’s work to fit within the Nazi party lines.  When he had returned to the US he had pursued his efforts to find the embodiment of his thesis.  Now on his desk lay his file on sentinels, an age-old form of tribal guardians, men with enhanced senses they used to protect the tribe from their enemies. Trying to find a sentinel was like finding a needle in a haystack. Depressed, he reached into the drawer of his desk and took out a bottle of whisky, briefly contemplating the level in the bottle before fishing out a glass and filling it almost to the top. Dean Collins was talking of cutting off his grant if he didn’t get a result soon, the clock was ticking, and he had been told that he had to find a sentinel if he wanted to stay at Rainier University. Taking a deep drink of the whisky, Blair looked at the file broodingly, and then finished off the whisky in two big gulps. A sentinel was supposed to be a tribal guardian, but the man detailed in the file was a thief and a killer. How the hell could he be a sentinel?  But he was all he had to work with if he wanted to save his research


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 September 1942

 

Cascade

 

Blair sipped his coffee and pulled a face. It was cold and bitter, and he put the cup down in disgust, reaching for a research file of possible sentinels.  He had been gathering the information for the last five years in the hope of finding his own test subject. In all that time he had found only one man that had come close to being a sentinel, he had scored well on sight, smell and touch. But the man had had the basest nature, he had liked to inflict pain, dominate the men round him, using his strength to crush and degrade weaker men. His very name, Maggot, seemed fitting; he was currently serving life in San Quentin man might have had enhanced senses, but he didn’t share the heart of the sentinel that the old books had talked about. Blair was just reaching for the whisky bottle in his desk drawer when he realized that the papers were out of order and a cold feeling of dread ran though him. Someone had broken into his office. Concerned now, he went round the room checking, his dismay increasing as he confirmed that someone had gone over his office with a fine toothcomb, but only the sentinel files had been touched.

 

Just then there was a knock on the office door.  Blair called for whoever was there to come in. A glance at the clock told him it was too early for one of his students, but he was surprised to see two Army Officers standing there. His gaze slid over the smaller of the two to rest on an older man, tall, his face showing nothing, his eyes ice cold, and Blair all but shivered from the force of the stare directed at him. He felt the man could see right through him to his very soul and he was being weighed and found wanting.

 

“Dr Sandburg,” the smaller man said.

 

“Yes.”

 

The man smiled. It wasn’t very reassuring. “We want to speak to you about your research.”

 

“Er, the thin blue line?” Blair tried to move the sentinel file; the thin blue line, about police interaction, was his cover for his sentinel work.

 

“No, Doctor,” the smaller man put in smoothly, “your real research, the one about sentinels.” He saw the look on Blair’s face, and his smile became chilling as in one stride his hand pinned the younger man’s hand to the desk as he extracted the file. Taking a seat without asking he opened the file and began to page through it. Blair was on his feet and half way round the desk when he was caught and slammed up against the wall, his feet only just scraping the floor.  He found himself looking into the older, larger man’s face; the anger he saw there was only barely suppressed.

 

“Who… are… you… guys?” Blair demanded, his words coming out in a breathless whisper. It was the smaller man that answered “Your tax dollar at work, Dr Sandburg.”

 

“I am Colonel Coleman, and this is Captain Ellison.  Doctor, meet your sentinel.”  Coleman’s smile was smug, he had Sandburg just where he wanted him, and if Sandburg didn’t go for the deal, he was sure he could make him. Over time, the younger man had bent the rules, and one of them was about to bite him in the ass if he refused. Then the Colonel added “So what do you say Dr Sandburg?”

 

Blair looked towards the Colonel and then back at the grim faced Sentinel. “Okay, okay, but we do it my way, right?”

 

Colonel Coleman’s smile widened “of course, Doctor. Then he added “Within reason.”

 

The big mans grip slackened on his shirt, and Blair was lowered back down, then surprisingly there was a smile that tugged at the Sentinels lips. “Welcome to the Army, Darwin” Captain Ellison said. Then for the first time since the two Army officers had come into his office, Blair began to believe that this might just work.

 

0-0-0-0

 

London

 

Evening 4th December 1942

 

Lucy Morgan was walking down the street; in her hand she held a flash light, its face taped leaving only a small beam, just enough so that she could pick her way home. She gave a gasp as a man stepped out in front of her, but relaxed and smiled as she discovered that he was polite and was lost, totally turned around in the smog and the blackout. He seemed lonely and she accepted his invitation to go out for a drink. After all, he was a long way from home, he looked like he needed some company and he was an officer.  Besides, she smiled to herself; she had always liked them tall and blond. He had taken her arm to escort her. The pub was the Carpenters Arms, and its wood-panelled walls made it dark and somehow more private.  She still felt guilty for dumping her boyfriend when he was called up and she knew that some of her neighbours would give her grief for being seen out with a Yank. But what the hell, tonight she didn’t care and soon one thing lead to another and she had boldly slid her hand down his body under the table, making her intention very plain as she leaned into him, draining her drink. She had felt his body respond to her touch, and looking up into his green-flecked amber eyes, she had seen the flair of lust and need and had laughed softly.  It had been a long time, and she knew she needed this release as much as he did.  When she whispered her suggestion in his ear he nodded his agreement.

 

As they left the pub, he slipped an arm round her, accepting the invitation to go home with her.  After all, what harm could it do?  No one would be using anyone, and theirs was a mutual need.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Morning of the 5th December 1942.

 

First Lieutenant Craig Garrison stepped out into the early morning light.  It was at times like this, when London was quiet, that it was hard to think that there was a war going on. The City was slowly coming to life, and he thrust his hands into his coat and headed down the street.  The girl last night had been something special and if for a few hours they had forgotten the horrors of the war as they took a tumble between the sheets, then maybe it hadn’t done any harm; no one had used anyone, and it had been mutually satisfying. In his pocket was her name and number, maybe he would look her up next time he was in Town. He paused to light a cigarette and caught his reflection in the window of the shop front. At 29 he was a career soldier, having graduated from West Point in 1937 when he was 23 years old, and had gone into the US Army Air force[1]; before a crash had finished his military flying career two years later and he had transferred into the infantry in 1939, later seeing action in North Africa[2].  For a moment the anger swept through him, a senior officer fouls up and it gets passed down the line. He had been lucky not to be court martialled; instead he had been busted down from Captain to 1st Lieutenant. He took a deep pull on the cigarette.  He had accepted the punishment and waited it out. Garrison started walking, lost in his memories.  Since then he had worked as a commando with allied units, until a burst of machine gun fire had ripped through his body, but now, fully fit again, rumour from HQ was that he was being considered for a Special Forces unit. Fluent in German, it wasn’t hard to guess where that unit was going, he just hoped he had some good men under him; one rotten apple would send him to an early grave. The tall blond officer dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his foot and headed down to HQ.

 

Evening

 

Air Raid Warden Howard saw the light spilling from the upstairs window and banged on the door, when were people going to take the blackout seriously?  He hammered on the back door and to his surprise it opened. Calling out, he carefully stepped in, slowly making his way from room to room, before tentatively knocking on the bedroom door. When there was no answer, Howard pushed it open and walked in. Instantly, his hand flew to his mouth and he spun round, only just making it out of the room before he was violently ill. He had seen a lot of horrors since the war started but the sight in the room turned his stomach. He staggered out of the house to the nearest phone box and called 999, his voice shaking as he said, “I’ve found a woman…she’s dead.”  In his hand he held a badge showing two crossed rifles; the badge of the American Infantry.

 

0-0-0-0

 

7th December 1942

 

London

G2 Headquarters. 

 

Three senior officers sat round the table, three files in front them.  Colonel Edwards reached out and pulled one towards him before looking at his colleagues. “General Miller has authorised the creation of this group, code name G11.  The team will be made up of five convicts gathered from the State Penitentiaries across America, selected for their abilities; it will be up to the officer in charge to handpick his own team. In return for volunteering, each of the men will, if they survive the war, be given parole[3], and their records will be wiped clean.” 

 

Major Wyatt shook his head. “With respect, sir, we can train ordinary soldiers to do the things that these convicts can do, and they would be less of a flight risk.”

 

“General Miller wants G11 up and running in as short a time as possible, recruiting men who already have the skills we need is the quickest way to do that.  If this idea fails all we lose are five convicts and unfortunately one officer,  but if it works then I see no reason why G11 should not be the only group activated.”

 

Colonel Kerr tapped the files in front of him, representing three men’s careers. “Captain Joseph Reynolds, infantry officer.  Speaks fluent German, married - I suggest that he is dropped for the moment.”  He saw that they were in agreement and moved onto the next candidate.

 

“Second Lieutenant Robert Cole, speaks fluent German, single, and was third in his year at West Point, a good steady officer, I would think.”

 

Colonel Edwards shook his head.  “I think that we need someone with more experience. First Lieutenant Garrison has been in North Africa, and has worked as a commando parachuting twice into occupied Europe with an allied group.”

 

“Garrison,” Kerr put in, “was busted down from Captain to First Lieutenant for his conduct in North Africa.”

“We have all read his record and I think we are in agreement that if he lives long enough, Garrison will be a Captain again by the end of the year. Discipline has to be seen to be done gentlemen, we all know that.”  He paused, “and we know that the person who takes on these convicts has to be someone that thinks outside of his orders, thinks on his feet, and I believe that Garrison has the best chance of the three men to stay alive.”

 

“He’s fluent in German, so in occupied Europe...”

 

“No, Brad.” Colonel Edwards corrected Colonel Kerr, “I mean that he might survive his own men, we all know that he is more than likely going to get his throat cut the moment he sets foot on Occupied Soil. Garrison might just manage to keep alive.”

 

Once briefed, Garrison had two weeks to pick his team of five, get them trained so that they would not break their necks on the first parachute jump, and try and get a feel for how his men were going to react when they landed in Europe. Because if he got it wrong, then all bets were off and he would be lucky to walk away with his life.

 

Garrison flew back to America and called the State Penitentiaries and within 72 hours he had the names of 15 convicts. His mission would take him across the country, but in the end he had the five men he wanted. Their names would be hidden behind the nicknames they worked under as criminals; only he would know their real names.

The first selected was his safe cracker. Casino from Brooklyn was abrasive and would be likely to challenge Garrison’s authority, he had been found in Leavenworth.  Next was Goniff, cat burglar and pickpocket.  He was English, having moved to America six years before, and was now doing time in Sing Sing. He was never known to have carried a weapon on any of his jobs.  Chief, an Native American Indian, a hot car specialist, mechanic and knife man, had been found in Attica. Fourth was Actor, an Italian professional conman, and the only one of the group that spoke German, he was also fluent in English and French and seemed to get by in several other languages as well.  Finally Wheeler.  Like Actor, he was from San Quentin, but he was in for armed robbery and murder. Of the five, Garrison was almost sure that he didn’t have to worry about a physical challenge from Goniff and Actor. But Actor could be dangerous in a different way, he was the one that once in Europe could blend in and disappear, also he had the ability to talk the others into making a break for it if he wanted.  He would have to be watched, but Garrison thought he might be able to turn his back on those two. Casino was mercurial, would give a verbal challenge, but there was a question mark over whether he would attack. That left Wheeler and Chief, neither of whom he would turn his back on, not unless he wanted to feel a knife in his back.  Garrison knew he was going to have to keep on his toes with that group; any loss of concentration and it could be his last.  

 

The first mission had also brought about their first and so far only fatality, when Wheeler had been stabbed to death and left in a burning rail wagon containing a million dollars worth of forged currency. Garrison had resisted selecting a replacement, instead content to continue with his original four. Introducing a new member to the team would be introducing an unknown element. The team seemed to be settling down, and he couldn’t afford to jeopardise that.  The missions had taken them across occupied Europe, and against the odds they had been successful even though some of the recent missions had been blown.  Things had seemed to be improving - that was until the last mission.

 

[1] US Army Air Force (USAAF) had Army ranks, it became the US Air Force (USAF)  in 1946. Garrison’s  former career in the USAAF comes to light in the Garrison’s Gorillas episode “Ride of  Terror.”

[2] Garrison’s Gorillas episode “Death Sentence.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Cascade Washington USA

 

Blair Sandburg looked up from his report, he and his sentinel, he still felt that burst of pride when he said the word, had so far been sent on several missions, from one end of the country to the next. They had broken two Fifth Columnist Groups, one in a ship building firm and the other in a small sleepy town that had nearly cost them their lives. Jim was in the officers’ mess enjoying a drink and shooting the breeze with his fellow officers and gentlemen, men that already had made it clear they had no time for pacifist civilians. It didn’t matter that he had helped crack the ring, he was looked at with mistrust. Jim had wanted him to come to the Officers’ Mess with him, but he had pleaded that he had a report to write.  Let Jim unwind the only way he could with his own kind.

 

He felt rather than heard the footfall behind him, and spun round. “Jim, you scared a year’s growth out of me.” He ducked as his sentinel reached out and ruffled his hair. “Why aren’t you with the others?” Blair tried not to sound bitter.

 

“I am with the one person that matters, my guide.” It was the first time that Jim had ever acknowledged him as anything more than an academic that couldn’t find his dick with both hands. Looking up, Blair was surprised to see a smile breaking the older man’s usually stoic expression. “Cat got your tongue, Darwin?”

 

It was at this moment that Blair knew this partnership was going to work.

 

March

London

 

Carol Smyth was on leave from her air base, she was a WAAF [1]. It was while she was waiting in vain for her friend at the railway station that she met the American officer, a Lieutenant. He was friendly and before she knew it she was agreeing to drinks and a meal. He was the first man she had ever been to bed with, and he turned out to be a considerate lover. She blushed in recollection of what they had done, but it had been nice and he had been gentle. Even when the bombs had rained down on them, they stayed in bed, their bodies lit up by the flashing of flames. Somehow, making love during the bombing had reaffirmed the fact that they were alive. When she kissed him good-bye Carol had been almost shy. It was stupid considering what they had been doing through the night, but somehow the light of morning had changed everything. She closed the door behind him, then a few minutes later there was a knock on the door, she opened it and her face split into a smile as she invited him back in.

 

Judy Markham came home from her night shift, the extra shift had been the reason she had been unable to meet Carol, and smiled as she saw the scarf on the door handle, their universal signal for having a boyfriend in the place. She grinned. Carol had certainly changed from that painfully shy wallflower Judy had first met; the WAAF had done a lot to bring her out of herself.  Judy entered, calling out to her friend and then stumbled back in horror, a hand going to her mouth, before she began to scream, unable to stop as she sank to her knees. Mr Jennings from the room across the way threw his door open, angry words forgotten when he saw Judy crumpled on the floor, he saw her motion a hand to the door, he pushed it open, took one look and then rushed down the stairs and out onto the street still dressed in his pyjamas to get help.

 

Inspector Roy Evans arrived at the murder scene to find his sergeant already there, who on seeing his boss straightened up and crossed over to him. Keeping his voice low he said, “We have another one, sir” There was a brief pause before he added, “This was found on the body,” handing over the American Infantry badge.

 

Roy swore softly under his breath, this made the third in as many months, and each woman had been brutally murdered, the violence increasing with every attack, and each time the evidence pointed to the killer being an American.  This was beginning to get ugly.

 

[1] WAAF – Women’s Auxiliary Air Force.


	4. Chapter 4

Outside London: the Manor

 

The manor had been given over to the American Forces, and while within reach of London it was beyond the main bombing raids, and with the addition of extra security and the high walls now topped with broken glass and wire, it had been decided it was the ideal place for Garrison’s men to be based.  Two miles from the nearest village, where a railway station had a direct link to London, it was isolated enough not to get the locals too interested.

 

In his downstairs office, in what had once been the Master’s Study, Garrison poured himself a coffee and settled back in his chair to look at the file in front of him. He had collected it two hours ago from G2’s London Headquarters. As he had left for the trip, he had seen his men watching him from one of the upstairs windows. They knew what his sudden departure meant; a mission.  All they needed to know was where and when. 

 

This mission was going to be a hard one. They had to snatch a consignment of industrial diamonds before the Germans got to them. He could tell by reading the file that they could do the job, but only if they had more people to help them; resistance in the area was virtually zero.  He took another sip of his coffee. He had told Colonel Edwards that, and it was then that Edwards had dropped the bombshell. 

 

Garrison had always been under the illusion that his ‘gorillas’, as his Unit was known, was a one-off experiment. He had no way of knowing until then that after the first two months the powers that be had repeated the experiment under the leadership of Lt Robert Cole.  It had, however, never been their intention that the two units would work together. Until now.

 

Garrison was pleased to hear that he had seniority on the mission, but getting the two groups to work together was going to be hard.  His own men still bucked against his authority, but would accept it. Introducing them to another set of cons could tip the balance; factor in half a million in diamonds, and he was putting his head in the lion’s mouth. The only saving grace was that he would have another officer and a sergeant going in with him. He felt safe enough turning his back on his own men, but there could be a problem with the others. But how this mission would affect his relationship with his men was something he wouldn’t know until the mission was underway.

 

Garrison’s chain of thought was broken as there was a loud crash from the room above. Pausing only long enough to lock the file away, he headed out of the office to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time to see what mayhem was in progress. It looked as if it was turning into a “why me?” sort of day.  A smile touched his lips as he reflected that he would not have it any other way.

 

London

 

Robert Cole was not happy. He had heard about Garrison, and frankly had hated the man even though he had never met him. Robert was not used to being second best, he always succeeded in what ever he attempted and each failure of his group reflected on him; the more successful Garrison was, the more he felt it showed him up. The only highlight on his horizon was when Garrison had gone through a series of blown missions, but even so the man confounded the odds by bringing his men back. This mission was one that Robert had waited his whole life for; a chance to get rich and get out from under his father, and then they had to get stuck with the original Boy Scout, First Lieutenant Craig Garrison. Well, that could be put right easily enough. Garrison just wouldn’t survive the mission.

 

Leaning back in his chair, Robert took a pull at his cigarette. Dawson had done time with Casino, and they had been close for a while in Leavenworth, and Jameson had known Chief in Attica. These prior contacts with Garrison’s men could be useful, but what he needed to know was how far the men would stick their necks out for their officer.  Had they buckled under because they didn’t have choice and would they be ready to take a chance if it offered itself? First he would get Dawson and Jameson to scout the lie of the land. Robert stubbed out his cigarette. He had a meeting with a half a million in industrial diamonds, and once he had them, they were only a short distance from the Switzerland and he was sure that Garrison’s men would see the logic. Why gamble on a parole when he would give them freedom and enough money to live the high life and all they had to do in exchange was make sure that Garrison never made it home. A smile touched his lips, and then widened.  He would have them kill Garrison, and that would be his guarantee, because if they were caught they would hang, and that was a sure fire way of concentrating a man’s mind on his future. 

 

48 Hours Later

 

First Lieutenant Craig Garrison knew that this mission had all the hallmarks of being a rough one; his main concern was his men. Their nickname for him from the very beginning had been Warden, and it didn’t take a genius to understand where that had come from. All of his men were convicts, and to start with he was nothing but another prison warden, who was able to send them back if they disobeyed him, but who more than likely would see them killed either in a fire fight or in front of a firing squad.

 

In the short time since they had dropped into occupied Europe on their first mission, he had seen a tie begin to form between them. But in the last 48 hours since the second unit had joined them at the Manor he had begun to see a change. At first there had been outbursts of violence, and he had had to wade in. He touched his jaw where Maggot had landed a haymaker on him when he was trying to part him from Casino. The blow had been hard enough to drive him to his knees, but he had managed to put Maggot down. Casino had pushed away from him with a snarled, “I didn’t need your help, screw.”  He knew it hadn’t ended there, and he would have to watch his back with Maggot for the rest of the mission.

 

When later he went to brief them about their training, it didn’t take a genius to see that they had pulled back from him. He was once again an outside, as an officer their natural enemy. The alarm bells had begun to ring when from being the “Warden” they reverted to calling him Lieutenant. Lighting a cigarette he inhaled thoughtfully, the question he had to ask himself was did he still trust them with his life? That trust was the only thing he had going for him when he jumped into occupied Europe, with only his men to watch his back. Death then was only a bullet away, if they decided it was too much bother to keep him alive, and ran.

Pushing that to the back of his mind he reviewed the newcomers, reflecting that combining two such units meant that there was a overlap of skills.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Garrison had received word that Dawson, the new safecracker, and Casino had worked out a way of triggering the fire bombs in the bank.

 

Casino passed the Warden as he went to get some more wire. As Garrison walked in to check on their progress, Dawson began to explain about the system. He sounded nervous and beckoned the officer over so he could show him something.

 

Coming back through the door, Casino saw that Dawson was stepping back as his hand dropped down to trip the board. Casino took in the sight of Garrison bent over the mock up, looking at something that Dawson had been pointing out.  He swore violently and then lunged forward, catching the officer by the back of his shirt, pulling him backward, just as there was a bright flash and one of the devices exploded, flame erupting from it. If he hadn’t got to him in time, Garrison would have caught the full force of it in his face; at best burning him, at worst blinding him. Even so Garrison’s sleeve ignited, the flames flaring up towards his face. Casino ripped his own jacket off and used it to smother the flames. Spinning round, the Brooklyn thief was on his feet and in two strides had Dawson by the throat and thrown up against the wall. “What the fuck are you playing at? You could have killed the Warden!"

 

“It was an accident, Frankie, an accident,” Dawson stuttered, using Casino’s real name in the hope of calming the man down, the Brooklyn thief had one hell of a volatile temper.

 

“Casino,” Garrison had managed to get to his knees, his right hand cradling his left arm, “It was an accident, let him go.”

 

“Warden?”

 

“Do it.”

 

Casino released his hold - he knew that command tone. But before Dawson could move away he prodded him hard in the chest, his anger barely being held in check. “We will talk about this.” Turning, he helped Garrison to his feet. From what he could see of the burns through the charred shirt sleeve, the Warden was going to be in pain but had escaped serious injuries.

 

The Warden might buy it as an accident, but Casino knew better. The board had been tripped. All the bad feelings he had about the mission were already coming back to haunt him. He made a mental note to talk to the rest of the gang.  He knew he was the worst one of the group for butting heads with the Warden. There was just something about soldier boy that put him on edge, maybe it was his willingness to put their heads in the lion’s mouth, nothing put him off completing a mission. But he could not fault the man’s courage; he was willing to put himself on the line to get them out. The brass might say they were expendable, and Garrison had paid lip service to it, but the Warden would never leave them behind. Garrison was one of them, and that meant that they would watch his back for him, against enemy or allies.

 

 

But Casino was getting a very bad feeling about the mission, the Warden had bushed away their concerns for him following the accident, but Casino’s unease remained as the Warden started his briefing.


	5. Chapter 5

Two Weeks Later

 

The plane was coming into land. Blair Sandburg yawned and pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, looking across the body of the plane to James Ellison who was staring off into space. For a moment, fear flooded through Blair. “Don’t worry, Chief, I’m alright.” Ellison favoured the younger man with a smile. “I’m not drifting, just thinking.”

 

Blair took a deep breath, and moved uncomfortably. It was bad enough having to travel in the stripped aircraft, but to have to wear a Mae West and a parachute harness in case the plane came down wasn’t his idea of travelling in style. Give him first class any day of the week.

 

The plane landed and Blair set foot on British soil for the first time since 1939. At that moment, the wail of an air raid siren cut through the air, and he found himself running for his life as the air field was attacked. To his left a plane exploded, and he was suddenly tackled to the ground as part of an engine came flying towards them.

 

 

 

He was dragged up by his collar and hurled into a slit trench, flattened by the body of the older man. Around them their world rocked under the barrage of explosions.  After what seemed an eternity, the attack finished as high in the sky the Spitfires and Hurricanes came out of the sun, forcing the German aircraft towards the coast.

 

Blair looked up into the face of his friend and Jim shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears as a voice drawled from the top of the trench, “Welcome to Britain, gentlemen.”

 

Both of them looked up to see Major Martin Worth standing above them. The situation could only get worse. The only time that G2 contacted them was when it was about to hit the fan. 

 

0-0-0-0

 

An Airfield in England.

Three hours earlier at dawn

 

The aircraft landed at the small field which used to belong to the local flying club and didn’t appear on any official map as a designated airfield. The nocturnal flights were witnessed only by a few local farmers. The Lysander taxied to where a truck stood waiting next to the old club house.  Sergeant Major Hudson, a slender built Englishman, stood waiting for it to come to a standstill.

 

His orders had been to get the Lieutenant on the first transport to London, and to make sure that he arrived in uniform, not looking like some tramp. The door to the Lysander opened and the first one out was his fellow Englishman, Goniff. The most easy-going of the group, his face showed concern and that started the Sergeant Major forward. Chief was out next, turning as Actor and then Casino came out. The two larger men reached back to help their officer out. Garrison tried to push them away, but instead swayed and was caught and held by the taller, older Italian. Actor spoke quietly, and the Lieutenant seemed to be listening as he didn’t fight their grip on his arms. Before Hudson could reach the injured officer, the Indian was in front of him and Hudson stopped.  He had watched the dynamics of the group change over the last three months since the cons had first landed up at the Manor. When they started, the group had been fragmented, but they had quickly banded together. Initially united against the world and their Warden, slowly they had  admitted the Lieutenant into the close-knit group. The Lieutenant’s men were protective and it would be better to approach carefully until he knew how badly injured the officer was.

 

Garrison’s skin was ashen, his left arm tucked into his jacket as a type of temporary sling, and the material of the jacket was heavily bloodstained as was the white shirt he wore. When he looked up, the sergeant could see his eyes were not focusing and that without the support of his men he would have fallen over.

 

“Lieutenant Garrison, sir.”

 

“Sergeant Major,” there was a slight slur to the words.

 

“Major Worth’s compliments, sir; you’re to report to headquarters.” The Englishman paused, then added “I am sorry, but immediately, sir.”

 

The reaction from the cons was instant, only a sharp order from their officer silenced them, and he started towards the truck. Casino caught the Sergeant’s arm. “What the hell’s the Major playing at? The Warden’s in no condition for this!"

 

“Major Worth’s orders.” The distaste was plain, looking towards their injured CO he said with genuine concern, “Keep an eye on him, lad, he’s going to need you.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Major Martin Worth had seen Captain Ellison and Dr Sandburg in to the office of Colonel Edwards, and then turned to the other business in hand. He took his seat and pressed the intercom, “Send in Lieutenant Garrison.” Major Worth didn’t look up as the man entered, keeping him at attention while he carefully and slowly sorted through the files on his desk.

 

Finally he looked up and acknowledged Garrison. “At ease, Lieutenant.” He looked the other man up and down. Garrison and his men had just arrived back in England, he didn’t even bother to look at them as they flanked their CO. Scum, prison scum, in no sane world should he have to deal with them.  Martin took in the pale skin and slight sway as Garrison stood there, it had been reported that the Lieutenant had been wounded but he had been patched up and the rest could wait for the moment, he had more important things to deal with. “I see you seem to have forgotten, Lieutenant, that an officer should be presentable at all times,” he drawled slowly, “and for God’s sake, man, stand still,” he snapped.

 

Garrison raised a shaking hand to his tie, and tried to stop the involuntary sway, his fingers locking onto the corner of the desk in a bid to anchor him. When he looked at the Major he was having trouble focusing. The early morning light streaming in from the window behind the Major was painful to look at; it burned into his eyes, he felt cold and clammy, and he had to swallow down the bile as waves of nausea kept threatening to overtake him.  His head felt as if a spike had been driven through it, he had to concentrate hard to understand what Major Worth was saying.

 

The next thing he knew the Major was in front of him, pulling at his clothing. He stumbled back a step and but for his men catching hold of him he would have fallen. There was a roaring like surf in his ears, and he felt his knees begin to buckle as he was pushed into a chair.

 

0-0-0-0

 

G2 Headquarters

 

Colonel Edwards returned the salute from Captain James Ellison and then told him to take a seat, his eyes sweeping over the smaller, younger man that was with him. He had heard about Dr Blair Sandburg.  Edwards estimated his age as being in the early twenties, and the young man almost seemed to bounce where he stood.  All he knew about the civilian was that the doctor was engaged on classified work, and that it had to do with Captain Ellison.

 

The man standing in front of him looked every inch a soldier. Edwards had read Ellison’s file, the man had been in the Army, and after being invalided out had joined the Cascade Police, rapidly rising to Lead Investigator in the Major Crimes Department. When America had joined the war, Ellison had re-enlisted and was given the rank of Captain, with Sandburg in tow. To Edwards it was clear that the heavy hand of US Army Intelligence was involved.  Since Ellison and Sandburg had started to work together they had been primarily engaged on espionage cases, and their successes had gained them an impressive reputation. Now he just had to hope they could do the same in London.  If the case became public, he didn’t want to think what the backlash might be.

 

He opened up a file and then looked at each man in turn.

 

“The killings started four months ago, and since then we have had one a month, four women, all of them have been gutted.” He passed the pictures across to the two men, his face grim.

 

Dr Sandburg went pale and swallowed hard before placing the pictures back on the table with a slightly shaking hand.  It made Edwards wonder what expertise Sandburg brought to the partnership.

 

Jim Ellison picked up the report. “So the killer is an expert, he took his time and went to work on them.” He paused to look at the photographs. “What do the police have to say about it?”

 

The Colonel leaned back and took a deep breath. “Inspector Evans is working the case, and it’s only a matter of time before one of the killings makes this all go public. At the moment we can control it, but the evidence is pointing to the killer being an American Officer.  If this gets out, the animosity between the British and US forces could get out of hand, and I don’t need to tell you that there are elements out there who will make the most of it, using it to prove to all the Brits that we can’t be trusted. The answer, gentlemen, is to catch the killer, fast, and legally. He will never stand trial publicly, but justice will be done.”

 

“What sort of Inspector is Evans?”

 

“He’s a good man, and I trust his judgement.” Edwards tapped the file. "You have a meeting with him at 14.00 hrs. In the meantime I want you word perfect on the files. He has been told to expect you.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Colonel Edwards halted his briefing as Major Worth came in, speaking in a hushed tone, and the Colonel excused himself and went into the office next door.

 

Jim tried to tune out the commotion next door as Major Worth came through and closed the door, the file in his hands.

 

Colonel Edwards could feel the anger coming off the men in the room; he had met Garrison’s men twice, once at the airfield and once at the Manor. Each time he had gone away feeling he had put his head in the lion’s mouth, and had had to fight away the impulse to check that not only did he have his head but all his gold teeth.  He had been left with a sense of wonder at how the younger officer managed to handle them.  Actor, the Italian conman and unofficial second in command, was kneeling by Garrison, so that he was level with him as talked softly and reassuringly. One of the other men, Casino, was standing with one hand on his officer’s shoulder keeping him upright. The dark haired Indian’s stance was protective, it clearly didn’t matter to him that they were in G2 headquarters; the Indian looked ready to kill to protect the team, and he was ready to deal with any threats.  It didn’t take much to understand that Major Worth had triggered this response, of all the commando teams by their very nature G11 was the most unique, hell, bizarre. Ignoring the Indian when every instinct was telling him not to turn his back on the man, Edwards came round to face Garrison. “Captain.”

 

Garrison’s head came up, and he quickly looked away as light that seemed too bright burned his eyes. He tried to come to his feet, but Casino increased his hold on his officer’s shoulder, keeping him in place as Edwards leant forward and firmly caught Garrison’s face and tipped it back. Edwards shook his head as he released his hold. The pupils of the amber coloured eyes were uneven sizes, concussion; he could see the sweat on the too pale face. It would take an idiot not to know that what this man needed was a doctor, not a debriefing.

 

Goniff, the small blond Englishman, handed his officer a glass of water. “You’ll feel better if you drink this, Warden.”

 

Colonel Edwards only just got the wastepaper bin in place as the water came back. Once started it seem to be an eternity before Garrison stopped retching, shudders racking his body.

 

Edwards shook his head and reached for the phone.

 

“We’ll get the Warden to the doctor, Colonel,” Actor said before the senior officer could issue the order.

 

“Move him when he’s able, this debriefing can wait.”  The last part was aimed at Major Worth who had returned to his office.

 

“The diamonds, sir, G11 still have them, if the Lieutenant hasn’t lost them. You did return with the diamonds, Garrison?” The sarcasm was dripping from Worth’s words.

 

“Do you have the diamonds, Captain?” Edwards cut across him, his hand going to rest on the younger officer whose attention appeared to have drifted for the moment, bringing him back to the present.  As if surfacing from a dream, his movements slow and clumsy, Garrison’s shaking hand groped at his pocket trying to find the bulky weight of the diamonds. They were gone.

 

“Here.” Goniff handed them to the Colonel when his officer looked up at him, eyes still dazed. “Didn’t want you to lose them, Warden.”

 

Edwards took the diamonds, feeling the weight in his hand.  Actor had followed the conversation, noting the change in rank. He had read the Warden’s file, and knew what had happened in North Africa. But at the moment Garrison was too out of it to register the change, he accepted the rank, responded to it because he had done so before.

 

But Worth hadn’t missed it. “Sir, you said ‘Captain’.”

 

“Lieutenant Garrison has been promoted to Captain. Congratulations, Garrison.” Edwards shook his head. The younger officer was not taking any of this in; it seemed to require all his energy just to keep from slumping forward.  “The paperwork will be forwarded to the Manor tomorrow. Now I would suggest you get the Captain to a medic.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Coming out of the Colonel’s office, Jim’s gaze was drawn down the corridor by the strong smell of sickness, cold sweat and blood emanating from the group of men approaching. As they drew nearer it was as if the world slowed down. Jim pulled Blair to the other side of him as his eyes met those of a dark haired younger man, whose skin was slightly darker than his companions.  Whereas the others’ attention was focused on their sick companion, he had turned his back on him, his hand dropping down. There was a snick that sounded like a thunderclap to Jim’s enhanced hearing and he recognized the sound instantly.  Ellison kept walking, all his senses heightened in case of attack, while the younger man paced him, protecting his sick companion. Only when they had passed did Jim hear the snick of the knife blade retracting, even as an English voice called for ‘Chief’ to help them.  He turned back in time to see the dark-haired ‘Chief’ assisting with their sick companion.


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

The Mayberry Hotel

 

The hotel was quite comfortable by wartime standards, and Blair bounced up and down on the beds trying to find which one was the best. He felt a surge of pride run through him at the thought, “My Sentinel.” Two words he never thought he would say. Somehow he had never pictured his Sentinel as a US Army Captain, a protector of the City, a police officer, or fire fighter. But then war had changed many things.

 

Jim pulled his tie loose and took a deep pull on the glass of whisky as he settled down to read through the file. This was the hardest part of any investigation, it was when the report put flesh on the bones of the victims, and this process would be complete tomorrow when he saw the boxes of their effects. Inside him the sentinel stirred, bristling and wanting to take the hunt on the streets, but the man and the cop in him made him haul back the emotions, keeping them on a tight rein. This had to be done right, there could be no mistakes.

 

Blair was thoughtful as he lay in bed looking up at the ceiling, they had been lucky there had been no air raid to spoil their night’s sleep, but he kept thinking back to the corridor and the way his sentinel had reacted to the men they had met. Suddenly Blair sat up, Jim had reacted as if protecting him from a threat, and from another sentinel, but whom?

 

0-0-0-0

 

Three days later

G2 Headquarters – London

 

Major Worth picked up the paper and read through it carefully. He knew this would happen, takes a bunch of convicts and they would always find their own level. If this information was correct they could send them back where they belonged, the only question was how deeply Garrison was involved. He shook his head, he might not like the man, but Garrison was too much of a professional solider to take part in the theft of the very diamonds his group had brought back to England.  If this was right then the man was in serious danger, there was no way they would let him live. But so far all he had was this one piece of information, and the Colonel would do nothing unless he could get more proof. G11 had proved to be too successful. Worth opened his drawer and put the paper in, closing and locking it. If the Colonel wanted proof positive then he was going to get it for him.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Scotland Yard

Morning

 

Inspector Evans was an experienced police officer, his workload since the start of the war had been heavy, but he had been told to clear his desk for this case, there was too much at stake for him to fail.

 

There was a knock on his door and Sergeant Gardiner escorted the American Captain and his civilian colleague into the office.

 

Evans smiled and greeted them both with a firm handshake before waving them to a seat. “Captain, Dr Sandburg, I understand your position, but let me state mine. We are going to catch this killer, regardless of who he is, gentleman. He has killed five women,” he paused for emphasis before continuing, “butchered five women. He will pay for this in a court of law.” He put up a hand to silence Jim Ellison. “I understand why this will never be in an open court, but we will catch him.  All I ask is that we work on this case without prejudice.”

 

Jim nodded. “Inspector, I was a police officer and when I took that oath to protect and serve, I meant it. If this killer is an American then he needs to be caught before he can kill any more women, and sour the relationship between the British and American forces.” Jim paused. “I think we both understand the wider picture.”

 

Evans nodded, pleased with what Ellison had said.  The gut instinct he had acquired over the years told him that he could work with this man.

 

Blair spoke for the first time. “Inspector, you said five women. I thought-"

 

“He struck again last night.” Evans paused, “I suggest that we run through the evidence.” He opened the file in front of him. “The murders are developing a pattern and we all agree he needs to be found quickly before this gets out of hand. The newspapers have been issued with a notice, nothing of this is to find its way on the front page, but that doesn’t stop word of mouth.  The local people are going to want revenge and if it gets out that the killer is an American officer then any officer in uniform is going to be a prime target, if they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

"Murder number one, Lucy Carrington on the 4th December. She was last seen with an American officer when they left the Black Bull pub together. Her body was found by Air Warden Howard the following night when he noticed her light shining through the blackout.”

 

“Does Howard have an alibi?” Jim asked.

 

“He was working with his partner and they split up to check the last couple of streets, the coroner said she had been dead for twenty four hours before she was found.

 

"Murder number two was Rita Murray on the 8th January, she was last seen at the Two Pipers. She was found by her room mate when she returned from shift at the local hospital.

 

"Murder number three was Linda Andrews on the 19th February, found dead by her next door neighbour.” Evans shook his head again, there had been no sightings on that one.

 

"Murder number four was Air Woman Carol Smyth on the 26th March, she was seen with an American officer, and then later discovered by her friend when she came off night shift. It seemed that they had arranged to meet and at the last moment she had had to work an extra shift, and had been unable to get word to Carol. During that time it appears that she met an American officer and her body was found the next morning.”

 

“Had any of the women been sexually assaulted?” Blair asked.

 

“The first and fourth victim had both had sexual intercourse, but it was not forced so seems to have been consensual with the killer.”

 

“Did they use protection?”

 

Jim shot a look at his partner, but Blair was clearly going somewhere with this so he let him continue.

 

“Yes.”

 

Blair mused, “So, here we have a killer who is breaking women’s necks, then brutally cutting them up afterwards, and yet he’s using protection not to get them pregnant. I would have thought that was the least of his worries. Perhaps he doesn’t want to catch anything,” Blair added after a pause, answering his own question.

 

Evans answered, “No, according to the information we have none of these women were prostitutes, so the odds of sexually transmitted disease are slight.  The two that were sexually active were the first and the fourth, the two that were seen with the officer.”

 

"Why do I think there is something missing here?” Jim drawled.

 

Evans nodded slowly, his fingers interlaced "The fifth murder last night was Elizabeth Shelby, 18 years old, Land Army girl, neck broken and body found like the rest of them, only this time in an air raid shelter.  Nobody was seen with her, and no sexual activity.”

 

This was going to be hard. Somewhere out there was a killer and he had to be caught before anything else could happen. Because as sure as hell the news was going to break and God help them when it did.  But with the constant flow of soldiers to and from the UK, he could already be gone.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Blair looked round the murder room. On a pin board was a photograph of each of the girls, their names below, the happy, smiling faces a sad reminder of lives cut tragically short. In wartime you expected people to die, but not through cold-blooded murder.

 

The bare details of their lives were etched in chalk on the board, and next to it was a map of London, with pin markers showing the murder scenes. Blair moved from one board to the other. Without turning round he said, “You really think we can solve their murders?” He bit his lip, “Damn it, Jim, there has to be a pattern to them, no one would just kill at random.”

 

“Why not, he could be just picking off his victims, maybe they’re wearing the wrong colour coat, or in uniform or-.”

 

“Uniform.” Blair paused. Two of the five were in uniform, but the other three were civilians. Damn!” Blair looked down in surprise as the chalk broke between his fingers.  Evans was a good cop, he knew that, and the man knew the area, why did the American Army think in their arrogance that he and Jim could just fly in and solve the murder? Because, a little voice told him, they know your secret, and expect results. He took a deep breath, and then said. “Inspector Evans has looked at this as a police officer, so why don’t you look at it as a sentinel?”

 

He caught the way Jim rolled his eyes. His partner hated to be reminded of what he was, reluctantly accepting his gifts.  On the back table were four boxes, soon to be five; in each was the clothing the girls had been wearing and any material evidence.

 

Blair went to the first and looked into it, the blood a reminder of a violent death. Carefully he took the clothes out and laid them on the table. “Okay, Jim.”

 

“What the hell do you expect me to do?”

  
"Scent the clothes, you should-”

 

A vice-like hand caught him by the shoulder and spun him round to stare into the angry face of his sentinel. He took a deep breath. “You have to lock your sense on each of the murder victims’ clothes, it will carry the scent of their killer, we can then-” he trailed off as the grip slackened. “Well, also the scent of the police officer that found the body, the mortuary attendant, the doctor, the- well, we can worry about that later,” he added quickly seeing the look on Jim’s face.

 

Blair stepped aside and placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder, allowing his presence to sooth and centre his sentinel. He took a quick breath to steady his nerves; there was always that surge of excitement when he did this, the knowledge that he was becoming part of a millennium-old tradition.

 

Sorting through the boxes took time, each scent, each texture had to be brought forward and then stored. At the end of the four boxes, Jim reached up and pushed Blair’s hand away.

 

“What did you find out?”

 

Jim didn’t answer and walked over to the window, each pane of which was crossed with tape in case of a bomb blast. Through it he looked out to watch the people hurrying past trying to get to the shops, for the promise of butter or cheese all bought on the ration book, assuming there was food in the shop to buy. All normal, each of the victims would have done that, ordinary things, ordinary lives until someone decided to take that away from them.

 

He turned back, closing his eyes, and without thought let his instincts direct him.

The first murder and the fourth, both had the scent of sex still clinging to them, along with the aroma of musk and sandalwood, mixed in with cigarette smoke and some lesser scents. In his head he played them back, box by box, matching and comparing. There was musk and apple, musk and grass, musk and…? He frowned, each of the scents were on at least two or more of the dead women. Jim swore, opening his eyes at Blair’s voice and touch. “I’m okay, Darwin.”

 

“Did you manage to get anything?”

 

“Too much,” he exhaled slowly, “We’re going to have to start to eliminate the police and the medics and then that should give me a clearer field.”

 

“Interesting.”

 

Jim spun round to see Inspector Evans leaning against the door. The Englishman was smiling, when he saw the frightened look on Blair’s face he took pity. “Just as long as it helps the investigation I won’t pry, and maybe one day you’ll let me in on the secret.”

 

“Thanks.” Blair muttered.

 

“Okay, let’s get started, gentlemen.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

The next three days were taken up with grass roots investigation. Evans had taken Captain Ellison out to view the murder scenes, leaving his ‘assistant’, as Evans had described Blair to his own Sergeant, sorting through the murder reports.

 

The next day was spent sorting paper. Blair sighed. If he read one more log he was going to scream. The Inspector and Jim had come to the conclusion that the officer was possibly visiting the Headquarters, given the infrequency of the attacks, and therefore the logs were looked at for four days prior to the murders.

 

Jim first ruled out any female officers, because of the sexual aspect of the killings, then anyone over the age of forty. Given the way the women had died it seemed the person had some combat training, so he ruled out the clerical and administrative officers.  Then he discarded any officer over the rank of Captain, as one of the witnesses had said that the officer had bars on his uniform. They had been unable to determine if the bars had been one or two, silver or gold, so he could be anything from a Second Lieutenant to a Captain. Any officer that could be connected with the date of two of the murders was then added to the mix, which left him with one hell of a long list. It gave both him and the Inspector twenty officers each; if that failed they would open up the profile of the possible killer.

 

Blair was looking through the files of the twenty officers that they had drawn, making notes on each of them so that Jim would have a starting point.  He paused on one of the files; there was so little information in it that he passed it straight to Jim. It contained nothing more than a picture and rank, indicating an increase from First Lieutenant to Captain. Jim frowned, scooping up the file and headed straight for the door. Someone was screwing with his investigation and he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Only one person had the authority to gut a file like this and his initials were at the bottom of the page.

 

The Colonel looked up as Jim entered. “You seem to have forgotten your manners, Captain, so where’s the fire?”

 

Jim dropped the file on the desk in front of him. He didn’t have to say anything, the Colonel’s face told the story.

 

“I see,” he paused. “You won’t find the Captain’s file in Central Filing.” He looked up and took a buff file from his own personal filing cabinet. “Captain Garrison is a member of G11, a special forces commando team.” The senior officer kept his hand on the file. “Only if you can justify your interest in the Captain can I allow you access to this.”

                                          

Ellison’s reply was immediate.  “I understand, sir. Captain Garrison was present at headquarters around the time of two of the murders; he is a commando, and the women’s necks were broken. He matches our profile, and I will need to speak to him.”

 

The colonel took a pen and scribbled down an address before handing the paper to Ellison. “You can find him here. The Captain was injured on his last mission, and although the doctors have released him from hospital he is on light duties. Ask your questions, Captain Ellison, but I expect that anything you learn from Captain Garrison will be treated on a need to know basis concerning our English allies, and I will expect answers very soon.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

That evening at the Manor

 

_The pain had exploded through his shoulder and head and he had found himself on the ground then nothing but flashing light, pain and darkness, then he was being dragged to his knees looking up in the barrel of the gun, the voice he knew and trusted sneering, “We don’t have to kill him, the Gestapo will do that for us. By the time they’re finished with him, he’ll either be dead or wishing he was.” The laugh was hollow and bitter.” He’s dead, just let’s make it profitable.”  At that point, the man had fired and his head spiked agonising pain through him and he had spiralled down into darkness._

Craig Garrison came awake with a start, his good hand instantly going for the automatic he kept under his pillow. It was then that reality crashed down round him, as pain knifed through his skull and shoulder, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he tried to beat the pain, forcing himself to take deep breaths as he concentrated on pushing the agony back. He ran a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat, and then got unsteadily to his feet and pulled a bottle of scotch from his foot locker.  There was not much left, but even so he poured a large drink, then shook out a couple of the pain killers he had been given and knocked them back.  Anything to make the pain in his head go away.

 

The nightmares were getting worse, but this time he had nearly seen the man’s face, all he knew was once he could see it the nightmares would make sense.  The drink hit his stomach and the nausea returned full force. Folding to his knees he threw up, and then slowly slumped to one side, his world spinning him down into nothing.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Along the corridor, Chief sat cross-legged, chanting softly in the tongue of his ancestors, calling on the gods to allow him entrance to the spirit world. Since the first mission he had felt a connection with his CO, it had grown steadily stronger each day. He knew where Garrison was without having to look. Chief only had to send out his senses and they locked onto his would-be guide, wrapping around him as gently as any caress. It embarrassed the stoic Indian that he had sought out the other man’s heartbeat, the steady regular thump, but it reassured him, and he found himself chanting in time to the heart beat.

 

Slowly the world around him changed, as easily as if he had stepped from one room to the next. Colours shifted to blue on blue, and looking down at his hands he saw the Bonding knife of his tribe.

 

He now sought out his guide, entering into a clearing where he roared his challenge.  The creature that was holding his guide in the spirit world was a black shadow but with substance. He had the guide’s body arched over, the guide’s back almost at breaking point. In his hand the shadow held a knife, and with one vicious slash he cut the guide’s throat, letting the body fall to the ground. Looking up, he met Chief’s eyes, and his laughter vibrated through the clearing. His very presence seemed to leech the colour from around him.

 

The world tilted and re-set, his dead guide and the creature were gone, and it was then he sensed another presence on the plane.  Spinning, he saw a young man wearing the robes of a shaman.  For one brief moment their eyes met before he was pulled back.

 

0-0-0-0

 

 

 

London

 

Blair Sandburg came awake, his eyes snapping open. On his spirit walks he had connected before with his Sentinel, but never until tonight had he seen another person. An Indian, more than that, a sentinel, with the ability to spirit walk. This sentinel was associated with their current assignment, somehow he knew this, but Blair had been unable to see his face. Reaching out, he grabbed his glasses, pulled them on and began to write down what had happened.  This could be a whole new chapter of his book on sentinels

 

When he finished he leaned back against the headboard, brooding on the experience.  When he had first been approached by the military he had refused. He was a pacifist and the thought of taking another life had been sickening to him. But the chance to find a sentinel had been too much of a lure for him to keep refusing, that and the promise of a very lucrative research grant had tipped the balance.  But then, Blair felt a smile tugging at his lips, he hadn’t counted on meeting a sentinel candidate like Captain James Joseph Ellison. He had been the hardest headed of three men he had tested, all ‘my way or the highway’, and he had had absolutely no tolerance of long-haired academics. But then no one had counted on the bone-deep sentinel instinct that had kicked in. Absently, Blair rubbed his arm. He could still remember the way Ellison’s fingers had dug into his arm as he dragged him from the room, throwing him against the wall. Ellison had been all over him before he could even think to protect himself. It was then, with Ellison’s face only inches from his, the sentinel’s lips pulled back baring his teeth, that he knew he had lost control, and the only remaining option was to hang on for the ride.

 

0-0-0-0                        

 

The Manor

Simultaneously.

 

Chief had been pulled back to the present, but the staccato, quick pulse he recognised as the elevated heartbeat of his guide had him on his feet and down the corridor. Only the greatest self control stopped him from kicking down the door to his Commanding Officer’s quarters, and in one hand he held his switchblade at the ready. His senses told him that his guide was alone, that there was no threat. But the emotions that were running through him pushed aside all reason. Chief tried to force down the almost overwhelming need to protect. Finding the door locked was enough in itself to send him into guardian protection. The Warden had never locked the door since he had returned from their first mission.

 

Taking one step back he kicked the door open, and moved quickly in through the twilight of the room. There was enough light to see that the bed was empty, and he had to catch hold of the door as he was assaulted by the overwhelming stench of vomit and scotch. Quickly he knelt down, checking the pulse of the unconscious man, his hand lightly sweeping over the unresponsive head and back, feeling the life force of his officer.

 

The stench of the vomit nearly spun his senses out of control, but the reassuring beat of the heart under his hand steadied him. In his heart he longed for the time that his guide would be there for him, and he would no longer have to exist on these fleeting contacts. He spun round as he heard another man enter, the knife in his hand as he used his body to block the fallen man. “Actor,” he acknowledged, and only then did he lower the weapon.

 

The Italian quickly knelt down, repeating the check at Garrison’s throat for his pulse. “The doctors said this would happen, that because of the serious nature of his concussion he would suffer headaches and nausea, nothing to be worried about.”  The concern on his face didn’t mirror his words. “Idiot.” Actor spat the word as he noticed the whisky bottle, and the open packet of pills. “Help me get him onto the bed, and get him cleaned up, but be careful of his shoulder.” Between them they eased the limp body onto the rumpled bed, Chief stepping back to allow the other man to take control, trusting him to do his best.

 

A few minutes later he heard coughing and muttered words.  Actor was leaning over Garrison, his voice soft and reassuring.  There was no way the injured man should have been out of hospital, but for the influx of wounded, and the misguided impression that he could rest at the Manor. It was clear the medical staff didn’t understand the first thing about the workaholic officer. Well, this was a clear wake up call. Unless he rested he wasn’t going to get better, and they sure as hell weren’t going to parachute into occupied Europe with anyone but him. It was time Garrison stopped worrying about them and took care of himself.  The ghost of a smile touched Chief’s lips. The Warden, their personal nickname for Garrison, hated them fussing over him, but if he dropped the right hint Goniff would be all over him. The smaller Englishman was one of those people that cared a bit too much; he killed because he had to, to keep alive and to keep the team alive, but he had paid a high price for it. The act of killing still tore him apart.  And given a chance he would fuss over any injured member of the group to the point of the injured party threatening bloody murder, the English phrase was one that appealed to him.

 

By nature Goniff was one of the most inoffensive people Chief had ever met, given ten minutes with him most people treated him like an old friend. And Chief could pinpoint when the change had taken place with Goniff and the Warden. It was when Warden had been captured after they had kidnapped the German colonel’s son. Goniff and Casino had all been ready to run and leave him, until Actor had pointed out what would happen if they returned without the Warden. They would be straight back to stir, their paroles a distant memory. That hadn’t been what changed Goniff’s mind, it had been when the Krauts had brought the Warden in. He had been badly beaten, his face bloody and burn dollars on his torso. The man had looked as if he had been to hell and back[1].

 

Chief had been sure that the Warden had no idea who they were, hell the man hadn’t expected to be rescued, and at that point all he could see was a German uniform, not their faces. The officer had locked himself down, trying to shut out the pain, refusing to break, giving them the only thing he could: time to get away.

 

The look on the small Englishman’s face at the officer’s condition had shown more than words could have said, and that look had been mirrored in Casino’s face.

 

As if summoned, Goniff arrived in the room, moving quickly to the bed and exchanging a few whispered words with Actor before going to the cupboard to pull out a couple of blankets. Bringing them back, he helped wrap Garrison up, and then between them they got him to his feet.  The officer tried to push them away, but their hold was too tight, and he was coaxed and partly carried, partly dragged down to their dormitory. They would sort his room out later, now he needed to rest. At the door, Actor hesitated and then took the none too steady officer over to Chief’s bed and helped him to lie down, watching as sleep quickly claimed him, his energy gone.

 

Chief dragged a chair across to the side of the bed, his look daring any of the others to question his actions. Finally, with an order to call him if Garrison became worse, they went back to sleep.

 

Only when he was sure that the others were asleep did he allow himself the luxury of lowering his hand down to rest lightly against his guide. The injured man was lying on his side, facing him, dark blond hair plastered by sweat to his brow. With his fingertips Chief brushed the strands of hair back. For the first time he was able to touch his guide, and without realising it he heightened his sense of touch, savouring the feel, categorising it. Then his sense of hearing expanded, the beat of Garrison’s heart became loud yet soothing at the same time, a reminder that his guide was alive.

 

Then his features hardened, when had he first trusted this man, when had he known the unthinkable? It had been on that mission, when Garrison had come back to save his ass when the enemy soldier had discovered him and had him cold[2]. There was no reason why he had done it; the Warden had made it plain that they were all expendable. It was the first time that any white man had ever done anything for him. Then later, when he had offered his reluctant thanks, hiding it behind offering a light to his cigarette, his hand had brushed the Warden’s and it was as if a surge of power had swept through him. The light had suddenly got brighter and the noise around him louder, the scents sharper. He had moved away from Garrison as quickly as he could, and had cursed it, he knew what it was, and it wasn’t supposed to happen. He had to return to the reservation for the Black Moon ritual. It couldn’t just happen. Only it was and as if on cue he could hear his grandfather’s voice. “When the time is right you will know who calls to you. That person will be a warrior, a man of honour and strength.” But a white man? That was unheard of. But even as he thought this, he turned back and looked at Garrison, his habitual cigarette burning in his hand, which suddenly was filtered out allowing him to scent the man, a mix of musk and sandalwood. Chief had shaken his head to clear it but the scent was fixed. He knew that even with his eyes closed he could find the Warden. With a sigh he turned back to the window to keep watch.  Chief was jolted back to the present and pulled his hand away as if it had been burned. He shook his head ruefully. Why buy into trouble? The amount of missions they had been on in the last four months it might not be a problem; they would more than likely all be dead before Christmas.

 

But even so he couldn’t stop the surge of contentment running through him, which pushed away his doubts; the spirits had given this man to him as a guide. At the moment his guide was sick, and they had two weeks for him to heal. He would make sure that he did.

 

0-0-0-0

 

12.00 Midnight.

The Manor. 

 

Private George Reilly fingered the money in his pocket, it was too good to give up and he never liked officers. The bastards always thought they were better than everyone else, the nine day wonders were bad enough, but the regulars, shit, they thought they were God Almighty. He looked back towards the Manor as he dropped down onto the driveway from the wall, and with a grin caught up with his friend who was already walking towards their barracks in the old stable block, clapping him on his back. Hell, the money was a bonus; this was going to be fun, and a chance to get back at the Captain.

 

 

0-0-0-0

 

The next day

 

Blair hung white-knuckled onto the side of the Jeep. From the way Jim was driving, his Sentinel seemed to have no affiliation with machinery, and he seemed not to understand that:

 

(a) the British drove on the wrong side of the road,

(b) the roads outside London were minor roads,

(c) and that all the sign posts had been removed during the threat of invasion,

 

so it meant having to navigate and driving was making it nearly impossible and finally (d) his own guide wanted off this roller coaster of a ride from hell. When Jim finally pulled up outside the house in the grounds of an old estate, Blair was so relieved he could have jumped out of the Jeep and kissed the ground and the guard.

 

The guard stopped them and demanded their IDs, his hand resting on his gun. Looking from the ID back at Jim he returned it with a salute and opened the gate. As they drove up the drive, Blair gave a soft whistle. “Nice place. Looks to be late 17th Century, although that wing’s probably a later addition, possibly 18th Century.”

 

He ignored the look that his Sentinel shot him as they pulled up into the central courtyard.  For a moment they sat there in silence, as Jim looked up and round him, before saying, “Notice the extra guards patrolling grounds, the broken glass on the top of the wall, the bars on that window, they have been beefing up the defences, and they either want to keep something out or someone in.”  To the expert eye of the ex-cop, it seemed like the latter. There was something about G11 that they were not being told.

 

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when a British Sergeant Major came down the steps to meet them. “This way, sir, the Captain is in his office.”

 

The entrance to the Manor was impressive, carved wooden stairs rising from the centre of a large hall decorated with crossed swords, shields and flint-lock pistols mounted on the walls. The stairwell was lit by a large stained glass window, defusing the natural light into the colours of a rainbow.  Blair’s attention was caught when Jim suddenly seemed to freeze, and quickly he reached a hand out, touching his Sentinel to bring him back. Looking around, Blair was relieved to see that the Sergeant Major seemed to have missed the incident, so he gave his Sentinel’s arm a quick squeeze of reassurance.

 

The Sergeant Major knocked on the door of what had once been a study and now passed as the Captain’s office.  “You have visitors, sir.” His mouth tightened into the nearest he could come to censure when he saw that the officer had again discarded his sling.

 

“Show them in.”  Garrison got to his feet, one hand gripping the table as his world tipped and then steadied.

 

Blair tuned out the military pleasantries, he had noticed the concerned look the Sergeant Major had given the officer before he left as well as the faint look of disapproval when he had seen Garrison catch hold of the table. Blair turned his attention to their surroundings, and glanced around the room, noting that the blinds were almost closed, putting the room into semi-darkness which in itself was unusual. He studied the new officer more closely; the pallor of his skin and the tremor of his hand showed him to be far from well.  If he was on light duties then the army must be slipping, hell, he should be on sick leave.

 

Blair took the seat offered to him, as Jim started his interrogation.

 

“Can you tell me if you have seen any of these girls?”  Jim placed the five pictures face down in front of Captain Garrison.

 

Garrison’s hand rested on top of them, ready to turn them over.  “What’s this in connection with?”

 

“The pictures first, Captain.” Jim opened his senses up, fixing them on the other man, just as his guide had taught him. He was surprised when Garrison shuddered as if he was freezing; it seemed to run the whole length of his body, the breath catching in his throat. Jim started back a step, his usually stoic face showing his alarm.  He had scanned people before and no one had reacted like this Captain had.

 

“You all right?” Blair’s concern brought him to his feet.

 

“I am fine.” It was Garrison that answered, taking the question as being aimed at him.

 

Jim was shaken to his very core, then he swung round as he heard the snick of a switch blade, and saw the sentinel from the headquarters building standing there. Abruptly, it made sense. He had felt a presence from the moment he had entered the Manor.

 

“Put it away, Chief,” Garrison ordered.

 

“Warden.”

 

“Do it.” Two words, but the command tone was there.  There was another snick and the knife retracted back into its handle.

 

“This is private, Captain,” Jim warned, seeing the other sentinel had threatened to throw him into Blessed Protector mode as Blair called it and it could get out of control if the new sentinel came anywhere near his own guide.

 

The look on the younger sentinel’s face showed a stubborn streak. His dark eyes flashing with barely contained anger, he said, “I’ll be over here, Warden,” and deliberately he leaned against the wall, his eyes now fixed on Jim Ellison, also recognising him from the corridor, Guardian to Guardian.  The fire in him ignited, burning through him, his need for his guide nearly overwhelming. Then his gaze drifted to the smaller of the new men.  The presence of the spirit walk shaman could only mean one thing: the horror of his nightmare was on its way.  The only way he could prevent it was to bond with his guide, only then would he have the power to protect his guide from danger.

 

“Go back to the others, Chief, now”; Garrison’s tone indicated that this was final.

 

Blair suddenly realised that Garrison hadn’t raised his voice although the tone was commanding and forceful. But there was something more, a connection between the two men.  Then Blair’s mouth dropped open. The Captain didn’t register, on his horizon, as a guide, but Blair was almost sure that was what he was, the younger man was pure sentinel, he could feel him like an itch he couldn’t scratch, but the signature was nothing like that of his own sentinel. Blair swore under his breath. That was all he needed now, to be in the middle of a sentinel-pissing contest.

 

With total reluctance the young sentinel pushed away from the door, “I’ll be upstairs, Warden,” simple words but said with feeling that covered more levels than a normal person could understand. The warning to Jim was clear, he might be upstairs but he would be monitoring what was going on with his guide.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Jim tried to take a couple of breaths to calm himself, pushing back the sentinel urges that told him to grab Blair and scream to the roof tops that he was his guide, claimed and marked. But he had an investigation to conduct.

 

“So, Captain, do you recognise any of these girls?” Jim tried to lighten his scan, he heard the heartbeat jump, and then steady again.  Garrison was ice cold, whatever he was feeling was well hidden. Carefully, Jim scented the other man, musk and sandalwood, the scent he had found on the clothes of two of the dead women. He could place Garrison with two of them, but with evidence that would never stand up in court.

 

“This girl and this one,” Garrison selected two of the pictures, pushing them towards Jim.  There was a one and four written on the back of them.

 

“How did you meet them?” Blair put in before Jim could ask.

 

“This one,” Garrison tapped picture one, “was in the street, the other one was in a public house, we got on.” He didn’t offer any more information.

 

“Did you have sex with them?” Jim asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“I thought officers and gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell,” Blair said.

 

He was nailed by the coldest pair of green grey eyes he had ever seen, and swallowed hard as Garrison answered “If you’re talking to me, then both the girls are dead. So let’s cut the crap. You have five girls here,” he tapped the other three pictures, "so you’re hunting a repeat killer, and you think it’s me.”

 

“Can you prove it wasn’t you?” Jim’s reply was swift before he added, “Convince me, Captain.”

 

“I thought that was what you’re supposed to do, Captain, prove that I did it,” Garrison countered.  Jim decided that if the other Captain was innocent then he could get to like the guy.

 

"If it helps, Captain?” Jim handed over a letter and watched while the officer read it.  Blair was puzzled; he hadn’t seen anyone give Jim the letter but whatever was on the sheet made the Captain relax slightly.

 

“All right. The second murder, when was it?”

 

“12th January.”

 

“I was in occupied Norway; it was one of a series of four missions we had in a row, that one went sour on us.”

 

“26th February.”

 

"I was in Germany, Hamburg. We extracted through Switzerland, and I would not have gotten back until the 2nd of March.”

 

“10th of April.”

 

There was a shadow of a smile “I was in hospital in London, severe concussion, and this,” he touched his left shoulder. “I’ve only just got out, you can check the mission reports.”

 

There was no point in stating the obvious; they all knew that his alibi would be checked. The Colonel had refused to release the mission details and dates, but Jim would have access to confirm them after speaking to the Captain.

 

“When you were with the girls did you see anyone or hear anything?” If cleared of the charge, Garrison might be a good witness; as an agent he was trained to be observant, and might have seen something.

 

The officer looked off into the middle distance. “Lucy,” he tapped the first picture, “We had a drink in a pub, warm beer, the piano playing, locals, they didn’t seem too happy to see me, I got the feeling they didn’t like Yanks. We decided to go back to her place, and I left the next morning.”

 

“She was willing, Captain?” Blair put in.

 

Anger flared in the green eyes, cold and hard, “I didn’t rape her, if that’s what you’re saying, Doctor. In war time people need each other, she was a nice girl, wanted some companionship, hell, so did I. That was all.”

 

Jim shot Blair a look that as plain as any words told him to back off now, before saying, “The autopsy of the girl confirms it, Captain, now is there anything else? You mentioned that they didn’t like Yanks, could someone have followed you back to her place?”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re sure?” Jim prompted.

 

“Sure, but she said it was her local, so they would have known where she lived,” Garrison shook his head. “All she said about the pub was that the owner didn’t like Yanks - something about his son.” He shrugged and then winced, his hand going to his shoulder as he added, "and I got the feeling that the landlord was scared of the owner.” Then he tapped the fourth girl’s picture, the WAAF. “We had a drink at her local, different pub, she took me there, no idea where it is, with the fog and the blackout I was already completely turned around when I met her. There were quite a few servicemen there, Brit Army, Air Force.”

 

“No Americans?”

 

Garrison looked at Blair, ignored him and aimed his answer at Jim, “No,” then he paused, “Yes, one American at the bar, a Sergeant, wasn’t drinking, trying to sell the landlord something, he looked really guilty when he saw me. So I’m guessing Black Market.”

 

“Did you see his face?”

 

“Not really, he turned away as soon as he saw me, and he had his back to me when he was talking to the landlord.”  Garrison paused, “Sorry that’s the best I can do.”

 

Jim collected up the pictures, placing them back in his briefcase before they were escorted out. Just as they reached the door, Jim turned, aware of an almost physical blow, and looking up he saw the younger sentinel sitting on the stairs, a knife moving in a spinning silver circle through his fingers, eyes burning into him. Jim met the gaze and then ushered Blair out in front of him.

 

0-0-0-0

 

It was only later in the Jeep ride back to London that Blair finally blurted out, “Just when the hell were you going to tell me that other guy was a sentinel?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“The hell it does, I am writing my book, remember?”

 

“Since when, Darwin? Remember academia is on hold until the war is over,” he smiled. “The duration plus six months, Sandburg, and don’t forget it.” But deep down, even as he said it he knew his young guide would not leave well alone.  Only this time he was playing outside his league. There was something about G11 that no one was telling him.  Since when does a commando unit need that many guards and wire? It brought him back to his original comment to Blair when they arrived, the answer could only be that the guards were there to keep G11 in.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Two days later

The Doves Public House

 

The Doves public house was on the corner of the village green and Bert Smith had been the landlord for at least twenty years. He looked up as the door opened, recognising the Lieutenant from the Manor, before correcting himself as he saw the two bars; a Captain now. The man came down to reclaim his men on a semi-regular basis, if not him then usually the MPs. Once he had brought them all in for a drink, but other than that he didn’t visit very often. “Evening, Captain.”

 

He saw the surprised look on the officer’s face, as he looked round not finding who he thought would be there.

 

Guessing correctly he said, “Your men left ten minutes ago.”

 

The officer swore, then turned to leave when he recognised one of his men tucked away at a corner table. He shot a look at Bert, who shrugged, “He came back.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Ten minutes earlier

 

Chief entered the Doves, looking round he found the man he was waiting for. Collecting a beer, he headed over to the table.  Seated there was a man he had last seen three years ago, his younger half brother, Paul Raven. In silence he took a seat opposite him.

 

“Long time, David,” Paul said levelly. His brother only nodded, acknowledging the welcome.

 

“You have it?”

 

Paul took the brown paper parcel and placed it in front of him, “Grandpa told me to deliver it, the elders didn’t want it to leave the reservation, let alone the country, and you’re sure this guy is your guide? We-"

 

“He’s the one, Paul,” Chief’s quiet words cut across Paul’s, silencing him.

 

Paul Raven looked into his brother’s face searching and seeing the truth. “How are you going to complete the bond, the time of isolation? There is no place you can take your guide, and you haven’t said much apart from the fact that he’s white and in the Army.”

 

“Leave that to me.”

 

Chief put a hand out for the package, and Paul began to push it across when another hand came down and pinned it in place.  Both men looked up.

 

“Is that something I should know about?” Garrison’s tone was level.  When there was no rely, his voice sharpened, “Chief?”

 

Paul bristled but one look from his brother silenced him.

 

“Okay,” Garrison read the silence; he didn’t believe that Chief would bring anything into the Manor that was dangerous to either the group or to him.

He pushed the package to Chief, and then headed for the bar, his parting words clear. “You have fifteen minutes to get out of here and back to the Manor.” 

 

Paul watched the Captain and then followed Chief’s eyes as they bore into the man’s back.

 

Leaning over the table he caught his brother’s arm, “You can’t be serious, for God’s sake, he’s an officer.”

 

“Don’t matter,” Chief drawled as he picked up the package, his hand caressing it as he stood, his eyes still riveted on Garrison.

 

“Dave,” Paul shook his head. “I would ask you to think again, but Grandpa said that a Guardian knows his own mind. You need any help with him,” his brother tore his gaze away from the other man to glare at him, “Hey, brother, you might need help with a spot of kidnapping, right?” he clapped his shoulder. “I am there for you, the Greater Billinghay Airfield.” As they shook hands he pulled his brother into a hug, clapping his back, then left, taking another look at the man his brother was claiming. He was going to have his hands full.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Back at the Manor, Chief found a quiet corner in the Library and a quick scan told him that the room was empty. Carefully, he unwrapped the package and laid bare a knife. Its blade was nine inches long, the hilt was antler and carved with sacred symbols; it was the bonding knife of his tribe. Holding it in his right hand, he let the point prick the pad of his forefinger, which beaded with blood. Slowly intoning the chant, he wiped his blood down the blade of the knife. It would not be wiped off until it was mixed with that of his guide. He slipped the blade into the back of his trousers.

 

 “I see you made it back.”  The quietly spoken words didn’t surprise him, he had no need to see his guide to feel his presence with his senses. And that made the need of the Guardian in him flare, he hadn’t yet imprinted his guide, and that need was like a fire being fed oxygen; it was growing stronger and hotter each day. He had to fight the instinct to jump his guide, the knife seem to burn against his skin, a reminder that he was ready to bond. But instead he pushed it back down, stamping on it hard and just nodded as he went by.

 

“Who was your friend?”

 

Chief paused. There was more than personal interest in that question.

 

Garrison waited for an answer and they both knew he wouldn’t rest until he had one.  As their commanding officer he personally censored their mail and knew that no indication of where they were based had got past him. The post was redirected before it came to them. So any old friends turning up presented a possible security risk. Although sure that the bond between the group was too strong now for there to be the possibility of any of them making a run for it, old friends meant old alliances and those could put a strain on any existing ones.

 

“Paul’s a sergeant with the 918 Bomber Group. He saw me at the Doves and came across.”

 

“Bearing a gift?” Garrison waited, “Which I don’t see you have with you, so to repeat myself,” his tone went hard, “Is it anything I need to worry about? Something that’s going to rear up and bite me in the ass one day?”

 

Chief hesitated and then his hand went to the small of his back and he pulled the knife, releasing the sheath as he did so. Garrison didn’t step back from the blade even though it was close enough to strike. His eyes held Chief’s, seeing no threat to him, and he put his hand out.

 

Garrison was puzzled when it was handed to him without protest.  Chief’s heart was thumping hard in his chest, his senses became hyper, reaching out to wrap round his guide, the sight of him standing there with the bonding knife in his hand was almost too much for him.  He snatched the knife back before he started something that only the bonding ritual could stop, only to hear a sharp cry of pain as Garrison clamped his hand down over a clear cut across his palm where the razor sharp blade had sliced into him.

 

“Warden!”

 

“It’s okay, just clipped me.”  He looked up, fixing him with a steely glare, but there was no anger in his voice. The officer knew all too well that if the Indian had wanted to knife him, he would be dead.

 

Chief dragged a shirt from their makeshift washing line before one of the large fireplaces, and used it to pad the wound, pressing hard to try and stem the bleeding. The smell of the blood was sickening. He had smelt that scent too often on his guide in the last few days.  Finally the bleeding slowed, “Keep your hand there, Warden.” Only then would the Indian risk going for the first aid kit, he could pad the wound, with luck it wouldn’t need stitching.

 

It was an accident, pure and simple, but Garrison had never seen the normally unflappable Indian in such a state before. It was almost as if he was in shock.  His hand was shaking as he tried to dress the wound, and more than once he nearly dropped the bandage...

 

With a bloodstained hand, Garrison caught his wrist and pushed Chief away. “It was an accident, now get the hell out of here, before the Sergeant Major checks heads, and I have to make this official.”

 

“But-”

 

“Just do it.” The last few words were not a request but a command.

 

The Indian took the stairs two at a time, he needed to get as far away as possible from his Commander.  Instead of going into the dormitory he slid into one of the unused rooms, the door closed behind him and he looked at the knife blade. The dried smear of his blood was now crossed with the still wet blood of his officer, his guide. The two had mixed together. A smile etched itself on his face. He had no wish to hurt his guide, but all the same the mixing of their blood called to him. If Garrison hadn’t ordered him out of the room, wounded or not he would have tried to take his guide there and then. Chief held out his hand, the shaking was now only a fine tremble and the only outward sign of the fact that his nerves were now stretched almost to breaking point as he burnt for his guide.  He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand hard, then stretched it open.  This time the tremor was gone, and he had control back, but the little voice in his head asked, “For how long?”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Blair was bouncing when they got back. He now had another sentinel and guide to investigate, and a puzzle to solve.

 

“Don’t even think of it, Darwin.”

 

“What?” Blair gave him his most innocent look.

 

“The Indian’s a sentinel, I could feel him the minute I walked into his territory, and his guide, there’s something going on there I don’t understand.” The older man broke off.

 

“Come on, man, you can’t leave me like that, what do mean?”

 

“Captain Garrison, when I scanned him to see if he was lying, he felt it.”

 

Blair sat down suddenly on the bed, “He felt the scan? I am your guide and I can’t feel that.”  The younger man took a deep breath as he looked up at his sentinel. “So what do we have? Another sentinel and guide pairing and a guide that is sensitive to the scan of a sentinel’s senses. You said ‘his territory’, which means that…" Blair trailed off, then asked, “Do you see this room as your territory?”

 

Jim shook his head. "My territory is Cascade. Why?”

 

“So that could make sense, that Indian could be from a more nomadic tribe, therefore his territory is not confined to a defined area, but,” Blair grinned suddenly, “but to his guide. Home territory is where ever the guide is based. Also, he can spirit walk, that’s how I knew he was a sentinel from the spirit plan, not the earthly one.”

 

“Sure,” Jim drawled, his tone coloured with disbelief.

 

Blair looked up to the heavens as if asking for strength. “Why is it so hard to believe in a sentinel and guide, but not the spirit walk?”

 

Suddenly Jim was on him, so close that Blair pulled back too far to get out of his face and fell back onto the bed. The next minute his Sentinel was hanging over him. “Because a guide is something I can touch, scent, taste; substance, not myth.” Jim pulled back, and reaching out a hand pulled Blair up.

 

“So, two types of guide and two types of sentinel.” Blair couldn’t stop his face lightening, this was going to get interesting, and all he had to do now was find a reason for getting back to the Manor. As it turned out he got his wish quicker than he thought.

 

The next few days between them they covered the rest of the suspects and drew a blank. Evans could only agree with them, that they start from the grass roots of the investigation, in case something had been missed.  But both Evans and Jim knew the tragic truth was that all they could do was wait for the next killing, and hope they got lucky.

 

“Inspector, you know the Whitechapel area,” Jim saw the acknowledgement and continued, “There’s a pub called the Carpenters’ Arms, that’s the one that Captain Garrison went to with Lucy, he mentioned that he got the strong feeling that they didn’t like Yanks there.” He broke off as he saw the look on Evans’ face.

 

“The Carpenter’s Arms is owned by Jack Anderson, he’s one of the five Governors of London. A governor is what you might call a crime boss. Anderson is very traditional, strong family ties, no drugs, or prostitutes, he’s into black market and about every other crime he’s got his fingers in it. His oldest son, Rodney,”  Evans shook his head, “Nice boy, lightest fingers in London, and a natural at second storey work, went over to the States in ‘35. Last I heard he’d been caught and was doing fifteen years. Old Jack was spitting nails over it, claims he was set up to take the fall. So he’s very anti-American, and I’d say your officer was lucky to get out of the Carpenters Arms on his feet. We’ve had several Yanks roughed up in that pub, my guess is that Lucy was the reason he made it out in one piece.”

 

“Would Anderson have had the girl killed for it?”

 

Evans cut him off. “Jack might not like Yanks, but he wouldn’t have had the girl killed for going out with one. More than likely Sheila, that’s Mrs Anderson, would have had a word with her next time she came in, and made Jack’s view clearly understood. No Yanks in the Carpenters’ Arms.”

 

“Why did she take him there in the first place?” Blair asked before his face lit up. “She was making a point to someone, but who?” 

 

0-0-0-0

 

Jim was sorting through the files when Major Worth approached him; he got to his feet and was waved back to his seat. “How is your investigation coming, Captain?”

 

“We have some leads, sir" Jim replied neutrally. His gut feeling about Worth was not to trust the man. There was something about the senior officer that put the sentinel on edge.

 

Major Worth studied Captain Ellison, he had heard good things about the Captain. “I need you to look into something for me.”

 

“Sir, the investigation is priority.”

 

Worth waved a hand dismissing it. “Of course, but this one is also important.  According to your report to Colonel Edwards, you’ve hit a brick wall at the moment, and this investigation is current.” He settled himself down, his eyes taking in Blair and dismissing him. "A short time ago, half a million dollars worth of industrial diamonds were acquired from a bank in Germany, and brought back to the UK, they are currently in a bank safe. I have reason to believe that an American Unit,” Worth’s mouth turned into a bitter line, “G11, are going to attempt to steal the diamonds and disappear. I want you to look into and I want them stopped, caught in the act.”

 

“G11?”

 

“I only tell you this because of your security clearance,” he paused. “G11 are known as Garrison’s gorillas.”

 

“Guerrillas.”

 

“No, Gorillas, as in thugs and killers. G11 are led by Captain Craig Garrison. I believe you have already met him.” Slanting a look at Ellison he added, “His men are all convicts.”

 

“Paroled.”

 

“No, still serving their terms over here, if they survive the war, and six months after the end they will get a full parole. They are good at what they do,” Worth conceded. “But I always said that they would turn and bite the hand that feeds them, and I believe, and I have evidence to back this up, that they are planning on stealing back the diamonds, and making a run for it.”

 

“Do you think that Captain Garrison’s involved?”

 

“No,” Worth answered straight away, he might not like Garrison, but there was no doubt in his mind that Garrison was innocent of it. “I am just surprised that he has lasted this long, most people thought he would be dead by now. The fact they returned with the diamonds and their Captain is a minor miracle.”

 

“You mean they stole them and brought them back here?”

 

Worth grudgingly said, “That was their mission; they went in with G12, a shadow unit formed along the lines of Garrison’s group. Only when they got back G12 had been wiped out.  Due to a serious head injury we never did get the full story from Garrison. His memory was affected; all we know is that it happened the same time as he was shot. I am surprised they brought him back, I always said the minute he wasn’t able to run herd on them they would escape.”

 

“Why didn’t they?”

 

“Maybe they had better plans.” Worth leaned forward, “I want their hides nailed to the barn wall, Captain. They should never have removed that scum from prison, and I want them behind bars again.” He paused, “Personally I think it’s a disgrace that Garrison is still with them, he’s a graduate of West Point, the Cadet Honour code is “a cadet will not lie, cheat, steal or tolerate those who do,” and now he works with the very scum that go contrary to that code.” He shook his head in disgust.

 

Once he was gone, Blair breathed a sigh of relief. “Jim, you can’t believe that a sentinel would harm his guide.”

 

“Darwin, that’s not the only thing going on here. I checked up on Garrison, those injuries he got are interesting.”

 

“In what way?”

 

“I read through the report. According to the doctor the wounds matched what he had been told, that Garrison was shot covering their withdrawal as they were escaping from the bank. We only have this from the others as Garrison doesn’t remember it. He regained his feet, they gave him covering fire, he was half way to them when the bank went up. They all agree that he was too near the explosion, and was thrown up and forward, and landed hard.”

 

“His injuries must have satisfied the doctor, Jim”. Blair said as he saw the look on his Sentinel’s face.

 

“On the surface they do, even that bullet crease to the forehead, the only problem is that in his statement, Garrison said his men were in front of  him when he was hit. The bullet came from behind him, I noticed that when we spoke to him in the office.”

 

“How?” Blair started then seeing the look answered his own question, “Sentinel eyesight.”

 

“I can see the minute discolouration caused by the powder burn of the gun. That muzzle was right against his head - someone wanted the man dead.”

 

“Doesn’t work, Jim, if they had wanted Garrison out of the way they could just have left him. He was in no state to have stopped them making a run to neutral Switzerland.”

 

“And that is our puzzle and you can bet your bottom dollar that it’s connected with G12. Something happened out there, and my guess is that Garrison has no idea.”

 

“But he said his men were front of him.”

 

“Blair, he was protecting them like any good commander would, my bet is that Garrison has no idea where they were, that he’s in the dark as much as we are.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

The Manor

The next day

 

The Sergeant at the gate had checked their ID cards, and had confirmed that the Captain was still at the Manor.

 

On arrival, Sergeant Major Hudson escorted them up the main staircase, explaining that Captain Garrison would be with them in a few minutes. Just at that moment they heard a loud noise from one of the rooms, and the Sergeant Major didn’t hesitate. He was off and running, taking the stairs two at a time.

 

Five minutes earlier.

 

Chief was lying back in the chair, his eyes closed as Garrison walked into the dormitory; he was nearly ready to leave for London and a medical check up and briefing. The officer had decided to check up on his men before he went. He was under no illusions, they had got out of the Manor within the first week of bringing them to old estate, the fact that they had come back had been a minor miracle. If they followed their usual pattern they would at least wait for him to leave the grounds before they did their vanishing act.

 

He shot a glance at Chief. It was unlike the Indian to be asleep during the day. A question made him turn to address Casino who was bitching as normal about working with a cop on their next mission. Garrison was in the middle of replying when Sergeant Hudson’s voice came over the intercom, announcing the arrival of Dr Sandburg and Captain Ellison. The officer turned to answer it.

 

Chief suddenly bolted upright, coming off the chair fast, and then was across the space between him and the Captain, hitting his commanding officer hard and sending Garrison flying forward to slam face first into the wall. Before any of the others could react, Chief had him pinned with the largest damned knife they had ever seen against Garrison’s throat.

 

Actor moved forward, keeping his voice low and level, “Chief, you-” He broke off when he saw the look on the Indian’s face. He had seen that look before in the face of sleepwalkers, and it made the already volatile younger man lethal, because there was no telling what this living nightmare would make him do.

  
"Warden, don’t try anything, just keep perfectly still,” Actor warned, as he slowly edged forward. At one time he and the others would have been worried for Garrison purely because he was their ticket for parole, but over the last few months they had gained a genuine affection for the man which had been proved when they had brought him back against the odds on their last mission. One thing the Italian did know was that the Warden was in no condition to be thrown into walls, they had to get him away from Chief, as quickly and as safely as they could.

 

The crash had started Sergeant Major Hudson up the stairs two at a time, with the other officer and civilian on his heels. The British Sergeant Major knew that it could only come from one room, and that was the one the Captain was in.

Blair and Jim came through the door and then stopped. Blair’s hand caught Jim, “Stay back.” He had heard the growl and knew what he was facing.

 

Service pistol in hand, Jim aimed it at the other sentinel. He had no idea what had happened, but he knew whatever it was could turn nasty real quickly.

 

“Keep back,” Blair warned the Sergeant Major firmly.  He could see that Garrison was groggy at the moment, and in no position to help himself.

 

“Sentinel?” There was no reply. Blair racked his brain then tried again.  “Guardian, why?” Blair kept his voice level, allowing no censure to enter his tone, a sentinel or Guardian in what he called blessed protector mood wouldn’t take kindly to being challenged. Blair was thrown by the attack; something must have triggered it, although until then Blair would have been certain that no sentinel would ever assault their guide.  It seemed that with Chief and his type of sentinel all bets were off.

 

“Can’t allow him to go, can’t, won’t.” The last words were said with strength, his eyes never leaving the people he saw as a threat. Blair guessed his senses were wrapped round Garrison but he understood the other man. “What did you see?”

 

“Death, have to stop him.” The Indian’s hand moved forward as he detected the change in Garrison, he could feel the surge of energy in his body as the Captain tensed to make a move to escape. His guide was tricky and a trained commando; he had to be on the game to stop him escaping. He allowed the blade to cut no worse than a paper cut, but enough to warn his guide to stay still.

 

Blair’s mind was quickly putting names to faces of the G11 squad.  He saw two of the men spread out, flanking the tall Italian he recognised as the one called Actor, and with suddenly clarity knew that he was seeing the dynamics at work, that the Italian was the unofficial second in command. The other two were following his cues. The smaller blond was Goniff, the taller thicker-set dark haired man, Casino. At the moment they seemed to be willing to let him handle it, but for how long? Their concern for their officer was plain to see.

 

“This has to be played out, Captain,” Blair took a step back at the fiery look Chief threw him when he spoke to Garrison. “Easy, Guardian,” he paused then added, “I am not a threat, okay?” Then to Garrison, “Captain, just keep still. He’s not really here, it’s a sort of sleep walking, he’s not going to hurt you if you remain perfectly still.”  Blair sent up a silent prayer that he was right. He had read about this, but had never thought he would live to see it in the flesh, and his concern was that Garrison was in no sort of condition to understand him, and might try to free himself. The Guardian could then see this as a form of rejection, and that would mean blood.

 

Time seemed to stand still. Chief remained in place, his senses wrapped round Garrison. This close he could feel the beat of his heart, soothing him on a primal level, but he frowned as he heard the slight congestion in his Guide’s lungs, a cold was coming that would have to be addressed. The scent of cigarettes - the Warden wasn’t a chain smoker, but he smoked steadily - permeated his clothes, along with the coppery tang of blood. The Warden’s blood was a scent he was sickeningly familiar with, given their last mission.  Then, as suddenly as the attack had happened, the need to stop his guide leaving was gone, and he released his hold, sheathing the blade, and walked back to his bed.  Lying down, he closed his eyes, his breath slowing as he slipped into sleep.

 

Jim was helping Garrison, the Warden ignored the thin line of blood seeping from the neck wound; if Chief had wanted to slit his neck open he would have done it. The recurring headache from the concussion had come back in force and Jim had to keep a firm grip on him to keep him on his feet. His shoulder was throbbing in time with the sledge hammer pounding in his skull. Just as quickly, Goniff was by his officer’s side, his arm snaking round Garrison’s waist, supporting his weight. “I’ve got him, mate. Okay, Warden, just hang on.” Carefully he walked him to a chair, not liking the evidence of pain etched on Garrison’s face. The doctor had said the headaches could return violently, but knowing it and seeing the toll it took was another thing.

 

It was then that Chief woke up, one look and he was on his feet, only to be blocked by Actor and Casino, “Back off him,” the warning from the safecracker was plain. He might indulge in stand-up fights and seem to live for putting the boot into the Warden at times as if he either had a death wish or wanted to go back into stir, but at times like this there was no fine line. Garrison was one of them, and if it meant protecting him from one of their own that crossed the lines, he would. It was a vow he had made early on and one that he was willing to back up with his own blood if needed.

 

Chief swung round, his eyes fixing on Blair and Jim, blazing as he took in the older guardian. Ignoring his own Sentinel, Blair kept his hands clear of his sides, looking as unthreatening as he could.  He needed to make sure this did not explode into violence. It was getting out of hand and fast. This pairing needed help and he was the only one qualified to offer it. A ghost of a smile touched Blair’s lips, qualified insofar as it meant he and Jim were the first Sentinel and Guide pairing in over a century. Hell, he was still writing the book as he went along, but that at least put him one up on Garrison and his sentinel.

 

With a nod of thanks to his men, Garrison brushed away their hands, and with barely a glance at Jim and Blair confronted Chief, “We’ll talk later, Chief. The knife?” He put his hand out. The Indian didn’t move “The knife. Now.” This time it was handed across. “Get this room straightened up. Captain, Doctor, this way.”

 

Out of sight they heard Garrison talking to the guards that Sergeant Major Hudson had summoned, Jim ushered Blair out in front of him with one steely look at Chief.  As the door closed behind them, they could hear the other cons demanding an answer as to why he had jumped the Warden.

 

0-0-0-0

 

In his office Garrison sank gratefully down behind his desk which spoke volumes of how he was feeling, he was guarded about what had happened, “A misunderstanding.”

 

“And how many of them have you had in the last three months, Captain?” Jim nodded towards the bandage on Garrison’s hand. He would dearly have liked to pull rank on the younger officer, but it would quickly get into a military pissing contest as to who had been commissioned first and that would get them nowhere.

 

“Just a nick, and who’s counting?”

 

“Well, Major Worth for one.” He saw the fleeting look on the younger officer’s face. “I get the feeling you and Major Worth don’t see eye to eye.”

 

“Let’s just say that he sees my unit as expendable, and I don’t.”

 

“Because they’re soldiers,” Blair put in.

 

“Because they’re cons, Dr Sandburg, garbage can hoods.”

 

“You trust them.” Blair had taken half a step back. Garrison hadn’t made any move when he had answered but the venom in his tone had been like a physical blow to him.

 

“Yeah, I trust them, I have to.”

 

Jim walked over and switched the radio on, if this was his guide he would have been listening in, and there was no way he was going to tip the cons off.  He saw the puzzled look Garrison gave him, “Walls have ears, remember?”

 

“Major Worth had reason to believe that your men are going to try and steal back the diamonds they stole on your last mission.”

 

“Unlikely. If they had wanted them, all they had to do was dump me and take off.” The words from his nightmare came back _“We don’t have to kill him; the Gestapo will do that for us. By the time they’re finished with him, he’ll either be dead or wishing he was.”_

“Captain.” Blair moved towards the seated man, bringing him back to the present.

 

“What, er, they didn’t, none of the diamonds were missing, all accounted for, half a million is one hell of a temptation and none of them took it so why steal them now?”

 

“Because we’re back in the UK, they have the connections here.” Jim trailed off, then added in disgust, “that doesn’t track.” He took the seat opposite Garrison, “No, why isolate yourself on an island that would be damn hard to get off.”

 

Blair, only half his attention on the conversation, reached forward for the knife while the two officers were talking, needing to get a closer look at it. Absently , he answered his sentinel’s question, “You’re the factor, Captain, you trust them, and perhaps there is a certain bond,” he paused on the word, seeing Jim nod, “with your men, they might see stealing the diamonds in the UK as acceptable, as it doesn’t put you at risk, whereas on a mission it would.”

 

Garrison shook his head, “No, on our first mission[1], I told them straight that if they ever ran, I would go after them and bring them back and that still stands.” The words were stated evenly and with conviction. Blair could only think God help G11 if they ever betrayed this man’s trust.

 

Jim removed the file from his briefcase, “This is everything that Worth has, and there are a couple of connections that link your men to this source.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

The officer and civilian had left about an hour ago, the Warden was still in his office, and the gorillas hadn’t gotten any further in understanding what the hell had happened earlier. But whatever it was, Chief was on edge, only relaxing as he saw the other Captain and the civilian leave. Until then it he was as tense as if he was on a mission.

 

“Chief, the Captain wants you now in his office,” the Sergeant Major ordered, standing back to let the younger man pass him. Like the others he had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was it was going to impact on the next mission unless it was solved quickly. Chief took a steadying breath and followed, only for Casino to shadow him a few minutes later. Given what had happened there was no way they were going to leave the Indian alone with Garrison.

 

The Indian entered the office, his senses locking without conscious thought onto his guide. The Warden was seated behind his desk, working on a file. He ignored Chief’s entry, so the other man settled himself to wait, his gaze fixed on the bonding knife that rested right in front of his guide. The feeling began slowly, a tension in his body, his senses began to snap and sharpen, the Warden’s heart beat was no longer blocked out, his scent was stronger, and he could taste it, the coppery tang of blood underscoring it. The vital force that was the man in front of him seemed to shimmer round him, and he tensed to strike. When Garrison looked up from the file and burning hazel eyes met ice cold grey-green ones, the burning fever in the Indian Guardian abated for the moment.

 

Chief felt it flare momentarily as the Warden’s hand rested on the bonding knife and then pushed it across. The younger man caught it before it could slide off the table. “I asked you about this, now I am asking you again. What the hell is going on, Chief, because I can write this up one of two ways. One, that it was a deliberate attack on your superior officer, and that will send you back to Attica, or two, that it was a training accident. Which one is it going to be?”

 

He broke off as the telephone rang; it was Major Worth, ordering him to report to G2. The officer glanced at his watch and realised that he was going to have to hurry to make the meeting on time. “We’ll talk about this later, then I want your answer. Have Goniff meet me at the Jeep.” Chief headed for the door, just thankful that he hadn’t had to answer any questions about the knife. He stroked the blade, its time would come, until then it would be used to protect his guide.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

Goniff put the Jeep into gear, he had been selected to drive the Warden down to London as there was no way the man could do it himself. Goniff had been chatting the whole way, not even waiting for a reply, just occasionally shooting a look across at his CO and frowning slightly as he could see Garrison’s discomfort, He didn’t comment, though. The Warden could be really touchy, and the last time he had asked he had been told what he could do if he asked one more time. Goniff sniffed, like that was even possible. For an officer the Warden had a way with words that he sure as hell didn’t learn at West Point.

 

They pulled up in front of Headquarters, and Goniff jumped out, shuffling his feet slightly as he waited for Garrison to get out.

 

The officer gave a long suffering sigh. “Out with it, Goniff.”

 

“My dad’s pub is just round the corner in Whitechapel, mind if I call round and see him, just round the corner that’s all Warden, not like I am going to run, haven’t seen him since I...”

 

Garrison held a hand up to stem the words. “Be back by 18.00 hours.”

 

“Thanks, Warden,” the smaller man began to walk away. Then turned back “18.00 hours is when, Warden?”

 

Garrison suppressed a sigh. “Six o’clock, Goniff.” For some reason the Englishman could never remember how the twenty four hour clock worked, no matter how many times Garrison and Actor had explained it. “And Goniff, don’t make me come looking for you.”

 

With a grin and a bounce the Englishman disappeared into the throng. Turning with a shake of his head Garrison started up the imposing steps of the building.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR SEXUAL ASSULT TO A MAJOR CHARACTER

 

 

Whitechapel

 

The pub was closed, the trap doors were open and beer barrels were being rolled down into the cellar, the smell of beer and oak was one of Goniff’s most vivid childhood memories. He opened the back door. “Hello, Dad.”

 

The man that turned round was a big bull of a man, he stood a good 6 foot 8, towering over his son, and he pulled him into a hug as he yelled for his wife, Maggie.

 

Pulling back, he looked his son up and down, his face becoming serious. “If anyone’s looking for you, son, we can-”

 

“No, dad, I’m okay.” Whatever else he was going to say was forgotten as his mother came in and he was swept into another hug, soon the rest of the family was gathering to welcome him home.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Garrison checked his watch; 1800 hours and no sign of Goniff. He didn’t think the other man was going to run, of all his men, Goniff was the mildest-tempered, preferring to roll with the punches rather than make waves. It was more than likely he had lost track of the time visiting his family. It was understandable. Garrison decided to give him an hour and then go looking for him. One hour dragged into two, by now his arm and head were pounding, what energy he had was draining away, and any patience Garrison had along with it.

 

PC Peers was just coming out of the heavily sandbagged station when he saw the American officer, that in itself was unusual. Unlike some areas which seemed inundated with Yanks, this part of Whitechapel was generally free of them. That, he mused, was down to Old Jack Anderson, the owner of the Carpenters Arms and four other pubs spread across the East End. Old Jack had a real hatred of Yanks, ever since his son was locked up in the States. The Yank officer was polite, friendly enough, and PC Peers had readily given him directions to the Carpenters Arms. He was just watching the officer disappear down the street when Sergeant Miller came out. “What was all that about?” he nodded towards American officer’s retreating back.

 

“Nothing, Sergeant, he just got lost.” He allowed himself a smile; while the Sergeant was called into one of the offices Peers picked up the telephone and dialled a well-remembered number. Old Jack paid well for information and this would be a small revenge against the Yanks in general, his hatred fuelled by the one that had walked away with his girlfriend. If he couldn’t have his revenge on that slime he could have it on another one.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Standing in one of the alleyways, Harry and Bert Anderson, the twins, moved into place. Their father had received the telephone call about a Yank officer heading their way, and from the letters they knew that Rodney had a Captain running herd on him. There was no way that they were going to let him take their older brother back.

 

By the time that Garrison was near the pub, waves of nausea were beginning to wash over him, the air round him was feeling too hot and he was having trouble getting his breath. The world began to tip and only a quick grab for the wall stopped him from falling.

 

“Captain,” The voice brought his head up and he tried to focus, but already it was too late.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Goniff looked up at the clock and swore under his breath. “The Warden’s going to kill me,” he cursed as he made for the door, but his father blocked it.

 

“Your Warden,” he sneered, “can’t touch you in Whitechapel, you know that.”

 

“Dad, he’ll come looking. I-.” Goniff broke off as he saw the look on his father’s face, “You didn’t, oh God, you didn’t.” Then he was pushing past him, heading out of the pub. Looking up and down the street he called out, then saw Bert emerging from the side of one of the bombed-out buildings.

 

“We’re seeing to him.” But his older brother didn’t answer.

 

Goniff ducked round him, and saw his other brother leaning over Garrison’s crumpled body. “Get your fucking hands off him!” Goniff exploded, as he caught hold of his brother’s arm and hauled him back. To his horror Garrison wasn’t moving.

 

“Rodney?” his other brother only had time to called Goniff by his real name when was elbowed out of the way. The smaller man knelt down and hesitated before placing his fingers against his officer’s throat, taking a deep breath. He was going to have all hell to pay over this, and he swallowed hard as he thought of the Indian. Chiefie had made the consequences very clear if anything happened to the Warden on his watch.  Then, to his relief, he felt the officer stir.

 

“You okay, Warden?” Looking up, he caught his brother’s expression. “It’s just a nickname we hung on him; he’s a Captain, that’s all.”  He broke off as Garrison stirred against his fingers. “Easy, Warden.” Carefully he got the injured man sitting up against him. This was going to take some explanation.  He was all too aware that Garrison was still suffering the after effects of the concussion, which by the look of it had hit him with a vengeance.

 

 

 

 

Just then the air raid siren sounded out across the city. Snarling an order at his brother Bert to get Garrison to his feet, they started to make their way to the underground station, joining the throng of people heading for safety as the first explosions began to be heard like rolling thunder. The staircases were full of people, and the platform was already filling as Goniff spotted an empty corner and headed for it.

 

Pushing Garrison down, Goniff settled next to him, examining him with concern even as his brother explained they had just thrown him back against the wall. All right, it had been hard but they hadn’t hit him, in fact, Bert hurried to explain, “He hit the wall, then seemed to cry out in pain and then just folded, I promise you, Rod, we didn’t lay another hand on him.” 

 

Ignoring the fact that Garrison was trying to push his hand away, he said,  “Forget it, Warden, the lads will kill me if anything happens to you, and Chiefie,” the smaller man shuddered, not allowing himself to continue along that line of thought, then added, “You’re not going anywhere, just rest.” 

“Alright,” Garrison’s hand fell away, too heavy to hold up. His head was pounding too hard to argue, his eyesight began to grey out and Garrison just let go.

 

Now getting seriously worried at his lack of resistance, Goniff tore open Garrison’s jacket and took a harsh breath at the sight that was revealed. The left side of the shirt was sodden with blood where the wound had broken open.  He quickly loosened the Warden’s tie and then opened the shirt up, his fingers rapidly becoming stained with the officer’s blood.

 

“Let me, dear.” Looking up, he saw his mother leaning over and quickly moved back to allow her room. She shook her head, tutting, then reached into her Shelter bag; like many mothers she had one packed ready with everything she thought she would need. Maggie Anderson removed a first aid kit from it, and finding something she could use as a pad, she slid it in place, pressing against the wound. She worked quickly, not removing the original pad, just supplementing it, then pressed her hand to the unconscious man’s forehead, and frowned. He was hotter than she would have liked. Checking his pulse before folding the jacket closed again, she then carefully tipped his head forward and felt the back of his head. Her fingers came away with a smear of blood. Folding another pad she pressed it to the wound. “It’s going to be alright, Rodney, the bleeding is already slowing.” There was nothing they could do now but wait for the air raid to finish. Wiping off her hand, she turned to her son. “Rodney, I think you have some explaining to do, young man.”

 

Even as he tried to remember the sanitized story that Garrison allowed them to write home with, Goniff discarded it, and began to explain just who and what they were. A loud explosion rocked them, and plaster came raining down from the ceiling. Jack Anderson didn’t miss the way his son had leaned over to shield his officer.

 

Maggie clutched Jack’s hand tightly; all they could do was wait it out, the bombers were now overhead and it was going to be a long night down in the shelters.

 

 

Jack had dragged Rodney off to see some old friends, waving his concerns away with a brisk, “Your mum will look after him.” It was a little later when she realised the Captain was coming round. “Tea, dear?”

 

For a moment Garrison had trouble focusing on the woman speaking to him, and he blinked a couple of times before he could finally make her out. She was holding a cup from a thermos, and added sugar from a twist of paper to it. “You’ll feel better for it, dear.” His hand was shaking as he took it and she helped guide it so that he could take a drink. As he moved, pain knifed through his shoulder and without her help he would have spilled it.  Slowly he took in where he was. 

 

“Looking better, Warden,” Goniff was back, shifting from one foot to the other, nervous about what his CO was going to say. But all he got was a look that told him he was going to hear more about it later, at the moment it would take too much energy. 

 

Jack Anderson put a hand on his oldest son’s shoulder and stared down at the man that could send him back to prison. They had argued long and hard, but Rodney refused to run, he owed it to the others, and there was no way he was going to let anything happen to Garrison on his watch. But his concern now was not just over what had happened but what he had just heard from his father.

 

By 2.00 am the underground station was nearly silent, the only sound the heavy snoring of a few of the old man, the cry of a baby, and the muffled sound of people talking softly to avoid disturbing the others.

 

Goniff was lost in thought. His parents were sleeping soundly, he couldn’t help but smiling, like a lot of Londoners they were sleeping their way to victory through long nights down the underground, at least when he was working with the group he could feel he was doing something. He might joke about the Warden going after yet another Jerry Air Base, but when they did it was one less to launch an attack from. It was crowded in their corner of the shelter and the Warden was leaning against him. Goniff turned carefully to avoid waking him and checked his officer’s temperature. He was still warm, but at least it hadn’t built up any more, and they had managed to get a couple of aspirin in him, which would help. But Goniff’s mind kept going back to the news he had heard; the gorillas were certainly not going to like this.  Finally, tugging a blanket round the officer, he allowed himself to fall asleep.

 

0-0-0-0

 

On a siding outside Kings Cross Railway station

 

Blair sat in the train; it was blacked out and motionless on the track, and as the air raid rolled across London the poster on the wall seemed to mock him.

 

IS YOU JOURNEY REALLY NECESSARY

 

Because Jim certainly didn’t think it was.  After all, they had more pressing things to investigate. But Blair needed advice from the one person who was qualified to give it and the one man he could talk openly to about sentinels and guides. Professor Lindsay Faulkner, Cambridge Don and Sentinel expert. 

 

A few hours ago the Professor had greeted Blair warmly, and finally they had settled down to discuss what had brought the young American to him.

 

The Professor hadn’t changed in the few years that had passed between their last meetings. He still wore a cardigan that had seen better days and his office retained the same look of orderly disorder, although as coal was in such short supply the fire was much smaller than before.

 

Professor Faulkner pushed his glasses back on his nose and took a sip of his watered down tea.  “I was very interested in your enquiry, Blair, and I have been looking through my files, and I think I might have the answer for you. The Indians call them Guardians, not Sentinels, and their guides, rather than being Shaman, tend to be warriors. Now I found one very interesting case, it dates back to 1870 during the Indian War, when it was rumoured that an Apache Guardian took a white guide. The man was a Calvary Captain; his company was wiped out when they had to protect the retreat of his superior officer. The Captain was badly wounded but taken alive, he was then tortured nearly to death before the Guardian took him.

 

“But the bond has to be consensual.”

 

Faulkner ignored the interruption and continued. “This guardian then bonded with him, using their connection, we believe, to pull him back from the brink of death. The bond was forced, Blair, it had to have been, the Captain would have been in no condition to have agreed.” He paused. “The pairing is then lost to the records.”  The Professor moved some of his papers restlessly. “The bond is a living force, Blair, at least that’s what I think, and it obeys no rules, but each culture has tried to make rules to control it. But in the end it is here and here,” the Professor touched his head and placed a hand over his own heart, "that the truth of the bond is made.  I believe there are more sentinels out there than we know, and they are in search of their guides, many will never find them, and their true potential is lost, for ever.”

 

 “Will you have time to stop for dinner? I know that Sheila would love to see you again, and you must tell me about that Sentinel of yours.” He put a hand up to stop Blair before he got going, “Nothing secret, maybe we can exchange notes.” He smiled broadly as he added, "and we might even be able to throw in a bit of food.”

 

While Blair got up, the Professor removed his old cardigan and folded it up, reaching for his suit jacket. He caught the look Blair gave him and grinned. “If Margaret knew I still had that cardigan she would throw a fit, so I only get to wear it at work, but it does add to the eccentric professor legend. Come on, lad, let’s go home.”

 

He was greeted warmly by Sheila Faulkner, she got him seated and leaned forward eagerly to find out all his news. Soon, of course, the chat turned to Sentinels, and their discussion went on long into the night, as they shared what little food they had. Finally, with the clock striking midnight, Blair got to his feet to leave, he embraced them both warmly before heading out to catch the last train to London.

 

 

 

Blair was pulled back to the present as the railway carriage was rocked by an explosion in one of the sidings. Finally the mournful wail of the all clear was heard, and the train slowly limped into the bombed railway station of Kings Cross.

 

0-0-0-0

 

 

London

 

Once the all clear had sounded, Goniff, much to Garrison’s disgust, kept a firm grip on his arm as he escorted him back to the motor pool and the smouldering remains of their Jeep.

 

Sergeant Ron Fleming came out of the garage with a clipboard in his hand. “Your Jeep got totalled, sir, but Major Griffith said you could have this one.”  He jerked his thumb at a broken down wreck of a Jeep. Garrison shook off Goniff’s hand impatiently and did a three-sixty round it, kicking at the tyres.

 

“And this is driveable, Sergeant?” his tone indicating that he thought differently.

 

“It’s fine sir, it’ll get you to Scotland and back,” the Sergeant tried to put in cheerfully, but began to wilt slightly under the officer’s look.

 

Goniff looked to the heavens, “Give him a break, War-” he caught the glare from Garrison, and amended “Captain, it’s got four wheels and an engine,” he looked at the Sergeant “Right?”

 

“Right,”

 

“Might not get you to Scotland, sir, but should get you back to base.”

 

There was deathly silence as Garrison did another three sixty of the Jeep. 

 

Goniff took the clipboard from the sergeant and intercepted his officer, “Come on , Captain, let’s get home.”  The Englishman could see the exhaustion in his officer’s face, the man was hurting and tired, he needed to get back to base as quickly as possible.  And as far as Goniff was concerned, if it meant taking this pile of junk they would take it.

 

Garrison signed off with a savage motion of the pen. “If this bucket of bolts breaks down, Sergeant, we will talk.”

 

Fleming suppressed a shudder.  He was used to ruling the roost at the motor pool; all the officers knew that you had to be nice to Sergeant Fleming if you wanted a good car, one that wasn’t going to leave you stranded half-way to your destination. But this officer - there was something in his tone that chilled Fleming to the marrow. Quickly, he reached into his pocket for the keys, and then frowned, patting his uniform.

 

Goniff grinned, “It’s okay, mate, I’ve got them.”  He turned and then took a step back. He hadn’t realised that Garrison had come up behind him. Seeing the look the officer threw at him he quickly added, “Scout’s honour, Captain, just the keys.” He ducked past, “I’ll drive.”

 

“Don’t push it, Goniff,” Garrison drawled as he climbed into the Jeep.

 

Fleming watched as they pulled out of the motor pool, and his face hardened. He had recognised the officer from the pub, but there was no sign of recognition on the officer’s face to show that he had remembered him. Given the reputation of Anderson’s pubs he didn’t want an officer getting curious as to why had been in there, and what he had been collecting the money for. The Sergeant looked at the wrecked vehicles, he didn’t give a damn about them, but he had lost a thousand dollars’ worth of black market goods in that raid, stuff that the Brits would have paid good money for.

 

Anderson was waiting on a box of silk stockings, and a case of the good Scotch; somehow he wasn’t looking forward to telling the man he couldn’t have his stuff. Anderson could be a real nasty bit of work and he wasn’t beyond having legs and arms broken to make a point.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Rather than talking up a storm, as he usually did, Goniff was deep in thought as he drove back to the Manor. If the Warden had noticed Goniff’s unusual preoccupation, he didn’t question it.  Garrison shifted around in the hard seat, trying to get comfortable; reluctant to admit it that his shoulder was hurting, he hugged his arm close across his body in an attempt to relieve some of the pain. Finally, against the odds, his head dropped forward and he slept.  Goniff slowed the Jeep down, trying to avoid the potholes and make the journey as smooth as possible.

 

0-0-0-0

 

The Manor

 

The small Englishman hadn’t wasted a minute once he was back home. He dropped the Warden at the front door and then dumped the Jeep at the motor pool.  Catching sight of the other members of the team, he jerked his head back at the house, and then disappeared inside, pausing only to tell the Sergeant Major about Garrison’s shoulder wound opening up. His duty done, knowing that the Sergeant Major had all the tenacity of a bull dog where the Warden’s health was concerned, he went to speak to the rest of the team.

 

Goniff waited while Casino poured everyone a drink from the bottle of whisky hidden in the suit of armour.  Before he could say anything, Casino leapt in.  “Okay, so what’s the panic?”

 

“Last night we got caught up in an air raid and had to spend the night down the tube.” Seeing the look on the others’ faces, he clarified, “the subway.”

He reached down and took a good pull at his drink. Already Chief was fixing him with a look he didn’t like, the one that was usually accompanied by an up close and personal look at Chief’s switchblade.

 

Chief’s senses locked on to a metallic scent, and his eyesight narrowed to the cuff of Goniff’s jacket, and a smear of blood.

 

“What happened to the Warden?” There was ice in his voice.

 

Goniff back peddled slightly, making sure that he got Actor between them. “No need to go off the deep end, mate, he’s okay. Just got his shoulder knocked and it bled a bit.”

 

“That all?” The Indian’s switchblade was in his hand, twirling through his fingers.

 

“Er, well he did have one of those headaches, but I made sure he rested and he was his old self this morning, and,” the Englishman grinned, “I set Bull Dog Hudson on him, the Warden’ll be lucky if we see him this side of dinner.”

 

Chief’s switchblade snapped closed, and he leaned back in his chair. Blocking out the other men, he allowed his senses to range through the Manor for his guide; sure enough he could hear the Sergeant Major’s voice, and a smile tugged his lips. The British Sergeant was always the picture of military correctness when he dealt with the Warden, but he had a way of getting his point across to his American CO that ensured compliance, and this was one such case.

 

He brought his attention back to the discussion as Goniff continued, “So, Dad was saying that he’d been approached about allowing a robbery in his Manor, it was for industrial diamonds, and the contact was an American officer. The man also asked for some local talent to help him.  Dad was more than happy to do it, especially when he learned the diamonds were German, he’s patriotic and didn’t see anything wrong in pinching them even if it did mean working with a Yank and involved kidnapping an American officer. The other Yank told him the name of the officer they were going to lift.” Goniff noticed he had their attention now and they certainly weren’t going to like the next bit, "Captain Garrison.”

 

Goniff took another pull at the whisky, “Dad got really interested then, especially as the bloke told him the Warden had personally torpedoed my parole. He saw this as a way of getting back at the man who blackmailed me into accepting his offer.”  Goniff added quickly, "Not that the Warden really blackmailed me, just offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse. All Dad could say was that the plan has started, and that the men he recommended have disappeared from his manor, and that whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon.”

 

“So why did he tell you?” Actor asked. From what he had been hearing Goniff’s father hated the Warden for his involvement in what had happened in getting his son back to England. Then suddenly he understood, and a quick glance showed the others did too. If they had all been stuck down the subway all night while the bombing was going on, the Captain would have been in close contact with Mr Anderson, and somehow, he had changed his mind. Actor was willing to guess that that had been all down to Goniff. With the Warden injured, Goniff would be mother-henning their officer, and like that he was formidable.

 

When Goniff finished his story, he was questioned. “You sure he said they were going to snatch the Warden?” Casino’s tone indicated the smaller Englishman should be damn sure before he starting flapping his lips.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure; no one would lie to Dad.”

 

“Did he see who they were?” Actor shot the safecracker a look warning him to back off.

 

“No, but the description is Captain Cole and Maggot, that’s for sure.”  Goniff sounded certain.

 

Actor swore under his breath in Italian. That just made their lives that much harder. Cole had been left for dead along with Maggot in Germany, and revenge was going to be on their minds. They had double-crossed G12 and he knew all too well that they wanted payback, which could be taken out in spades if they kidnapped or killed Garrison. Cole had tumbled over their secret, that they actually liked their West Point trained officer, and would risk everything to keep him alive. He was their Achilles heel in this game.

 

They were being set up and the only thing they could do was sit back and let it happen unless they could track Cole down first. Actor’s eyes drifted to Goniff: with his family connection he was the best chance they had. It was Casino that voiced the question. “Do we tell the Warden?”

 

“We leave that for the moment. He’s got enough on his plate as it is, we just make sure that he doesn’t go anywhere alone, and if they come near him,” there was the sound of a switchblade clicking open, “they’re dead.” Chief’s tone was grim.

 

0-0-0-0

 

London

 

Robert Cole stood looking at the map of the Bank. His planted information had worked, the British were moving the diamonds to the Royal Bank in the Strand, apparently a more secure vault, but one that he knew the Gorillas would be able to get into. Now all they had to do was pick up his bargaining counter and they would be in business. He smirked to himself. One thing was sure, he was going to leave this island a rich man, and Garrison was going to have his own six foot plot of England, there was no way that he was going to get out of this alive.

 

0-0-0-0

London

 

Knowing that Garrison would be in London, Blair had made sure that he engineered a meeting between the two of them. He had tried to remain still under Garrison’s piercing look, as if the other man was more than aware that the meeting was not casual. His bait had been Chief’s knife, and Garrison had succumbed, agreeing to the talk. Blair had suggested that they chat over a meal, the People’s Café was full but they managed to get a small table against the far wall.

 

Blair found the army officer interesting. He dropped a few hints about sentinels and guides in context with the knife, as he told him the story of the Officer and the Apache warrior, hoping to see an answering light in Garrison’s eyes where something struck a chord. But he was disappointed. Then Garrison took a sip of his coffee and said casually, “We covered something like this at the Point.”

 

“What?” Blair coughed on his drink, waving away the concerned look he got from the officer.

 

“It happens now so I am sure it happened then,” he offered Blair a cigarette, lit his own and then inhaled before continuing, “only now, it’s usually handled discreetly, resignation; otherwise it’s court martial and up to five years in the stockade, conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentlemen and a dishonourable discharge.”

 

Blair frowned, “There is nothing wrong with it, it’s a perfectly natural process.”

 

Garrison looked at him, his eyes growing colder.  “I know, Dr Sandburg, some enlightened people say live and let live, but this is the Army and we can’t allow anything that might undermine the-”

 

“Captain,” he pulled Garrison up short, “You mean-” Suddenly Blair got a feeling that he was talking at odds with the other man.

 

“Homosexuality that is what you were suggesting about the knife’s symbolism?” It was now Garrison’s turn to look puzzled.

 

“Er, not quite Captain, sorry.”   He paused. “So how is training coming?” Blair downed the coffee, getting a funny look from the man seated opposite him, but Garrison answered the question. This, Blair mused, was going to be harder than he thought. He accepted the tactile nature of the bond; the sentinel’s need to ground himself by physical contact, but for Garrison that was going to be a major hurdle, since it seemed likely that he would consider any physical contact between men as an alien concept, one to be suppressed and punished.

 

When they came out of the People’s Café, he was surprised to see a soldier standing near the Army car. Blair stood back as Garrison returned the man’s salute. The Corporal was Garrison’s driver in principal but from what he gathered the Captain had driven himself against medical orders, the so-called driver just along for the ride. Considering the man had had a free half-day in London, which most of the men would have killed for, he looked unhappy.  Very unhappy, and Blair couldn’t help but think that something was badly wrong. Just looking at the other man made him on edge. It was as if the Corporal was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Blair mentally shrugged, perhaps the soldier was just nervous of being alone with Garrison, the man wasn’t exactly the most warm and inviting of people. Factor in Army discipline and it was perhaps understandable. After a quick goodbye, Blair watched the car pull away into the traffic, to a squeal of brakes and some yelled suggestions of what the American officer could do with his car, as Garrison cut up a milk truck.

 

0-0-0-0

 

 

London                              

 

Jim Ellison looked up as Blair entered the office, “How did your dinner go?”

 

“I spoke to Garrison and…” Blair trailed off, running his hand through his hair in frustration, “that man...”

 

“What did he say?”

 

“He thought I was talking about -”

 

“Start from the beginning, Darwin,” Jim handed him a tumbler of Scotch.

 

"I was describing the bond to him, seeing if anything rang a bell, you know, some sort of neutral ground, and he thought that I was talking about homosexuality.”

 

“Oh,” Jim took a sip of his Scotch and tried to hide the grin.

 

“And that is funny why?”

 

Jim exhaled slowly and stretched his long frame, “Darwin, you have to understand that Captain Craig Garrison is a product of the Point, and while he may be a very flexible combat officer, he might not be that imaginative about other cultures, especially the type you’re talking about.”

 

“You went to the Point.”

 

“Yeah, but I’ve had you spouting that stuff in my ear for the last four months, and some of it’s rubbed off. Relax, Darwin, when the time comes Sentinel and Guide will come together.”

 

“I hope you’re right.”

 

“You’ll see.” Jim drained his Scotch, "Now, let’s go through the leads again, because if we don’t get anything soon, we’re going to have to wait for the next murder, and that could be one too many.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

The car was on the road back to the Manor, and Corporal Reilly was nervous. Garrison put it down to being in a car with his CO, not the most relaxing of experiences. As the silence lengthened, Garrison couldn’t help but notice that the nearer they got to the Manor, the more on edge his passenger became. By now it was beginning to get dark, and when the roadblock came up suddenly as he rounded the corner, Garrison had to break hard. There was a barrier across the road manned by two British soldiers with a vehicle by the side of it, and rifles levelled at the car’s occupants while a sergeant crossed to the side of the car. 

 

 “Your ID card, sir and the reason you’re in this area.”

 

“What’s going on, Sergeant?” He pulled the ID card out as he spoke. 

 

The Sergeant straightened to attention as he checked the ID, “Sorry, sir, we had orders to secure the area. You need to contact Colonel Edwards as soon as possible, our radio is over there,” he waved a hand casually to his left. “There has been a serious incident and we have four escaped prisoners.”

 

Garrison nodded his thanks and then slammed the car into reverse, the vehicle lunging backwards as he hit the accelerator. One thing he was sure of was that they were not British soldiers. Executing a rapid handbrake turn, he could hear the spatter of bullets hitting the back of the car. The Corporal swore and then brought his elbow up hard and fast into his Captain’s face. Garrison caught the blur of movement from the corner of his eye and jerked his head, but the blow was still hard enough for him to lose control of the car for a split second as it hit the corner. It hit the muddy verge and went it into a spin, ending up in the ditch.

 

The corporal was shaken, but even so he saw Garrison getting out of the driver’s door and lunged across the front seat, managing to hit his CO in the back with both hands, sending him forward into the ditch. Garrison stumbled onto his knees, and then clawed himself to his feet. The corporal could already hear the pounding of feet, the others were on their way, and his officer might not escape after all. .

 

Burt Harriman was a poacher by trade, and as he made his way through the wood, a couple of rabbits hung over his shoulder, he froze at the sound of gunshots before realising they weren’t coming from the type of gun you used for poaching. Putting the rabbits into a hollow tree, he made his way towards the gunfire.

 

He dropped silently forward as he saw the man coming through the woods at a run, behind him someone was yelling commands to fan out, and that he had to be stopped. There was the crack of more bullets, and the man seemed to falter, having to dive for cover, then he was up again, but it was too late, a soldier appeared in front of him from nowhere, there was a blur of movement, and the man was down. The soldier raised the rife and brought it down again, only stopped from a third blow by the tense, “We need him alive for now.”

 

Burt kept down, he had to get help.

 

0-0-0-0

 

The Village

 

Burt was talking to the village police constable.  “Ken, I don’t care, the man was clubbed and taken away. He looked like that Yank officer, the one from the Manor.”

 

“And how much have you been drinking?”

 

“Nothing. Are you going to telephone them?” 

 

The police officer looked him up and down, and then headed for the small house to the left of the crossroads. Sergeant Major Hudson had brought his family from London, and rented it to give them a home. Since he had permission to live off the Manor, he should be in at this time of night.

 

The sergeant came to the door in his braces, “Ken?” then he looked past him. "Burt, what’s wrong?”  He waved the two men into the kitchen. Hudson knew them from the Home Guard; he gave drilled them once a week.

 

“Go ahead, Burt.”

 

“I was out, I saw that Yank officer of yours, he was in the wood, he was being chased, and then they clubbed him down.”

 

“The Captain,” he crossed to the telephone. Its installation had been the one rule for him living off the Manor. He was put through quickly and turned his back on them as he held a hurried conversation. “Captain Garrison is off the base at the moment,” he reported to the two visitors as he reached down for his coat. “The lads from the Manor are on their way down, we’ll meet them on the way. Now whereabouts did you see this?”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Robertson Estate

 

Robert Cole looked at the man tied to the chair in the cellar of the old Tudor house and smiled. Reaching out, he caught hold of Garrison’s hair and pulled his head back, then let it drop again in disgust. The man was still out cold, blood coating his face from the rifle butt’s blow.

 

Bending, he picked up a bucket of water and threw it at Garrison. The officer came awake coughing, trying to focus on the man standing in front of him.

 

“Wakey, wakey, Craig,” Cole backhanded him hard across the face, re-opening the cut to his lip, and fresh blood began to flow from his mouth.

 

“Cole.”

 

Robert Cole made himself calm down, “You are going to get me half a million in cut diamonds.”

 

Garrison’s laugh was mocking, “I am a Captain, they don’t pay us that much.”

 

“Your men will get it for me, once they know I have you.”

 

“No,” Garrison looked down, “I’m just their meal ticket. I can be replaced.”

 

Cole had a smug smile on his face as he yanked his captive’s head back again by the hair. “But you can’t, Captain, it’s you or nothing.” The rage was building in Cole; the other man was too calm, too collected. “So this time they’re going to get those diamonds or else I’ll send you back to them in pieces.” He snorted, “You think that Chief will find you, is that it, your Guardian is going to find you? Oh, I don’t think so. You see, Maggot here,” he waved a squat muscular man into view, “He’s one as well, and, well, he’s got a few ideas about Chief.” Then Cole laughed into his face as he saw the puzzled expression. “You don’t know, do you?” He shook his head. “Mister high and mighty Craig Garrison doesn’t know about it, Maggot, maybe I should tell him.”

 

Without waiting for an answer he continued, with malicious pleasure. “Why do you think that Chief is watching your back all the time? All he’s doing is waiting for the right moment to jump your ass, maybe Maggot here should show you what to expect, how about it Maggot? Show the Captain what he should expect when he’s a guide to a Sentinel.”

 

The half sentinel was next to the captive man in a heartbeat, his coarse hands moving over Garrison’s face and chest, savouring the elevated heartbeat as his hands dropped lower to roughly fondle the bound man. 

 

Cole gloated, “Back on the mission who was it, you think, suggested turning you over to the Gestapo? Your own men, that’s who, that fancy conman of yours had it all worked out. Then they decided it was too risky, they couldn’t trust the Germans not to try and take the whole team, and who needed the risk with half million dollars of diamonds? So Actor decided to put you out of your misery, Garrison, he was the one that shot you. If the Indian hadn’t pushed his hand up, your brains would have been decorating that wall. The only reason that Indian backed you was because Sentinels get all hot and horny over their guides, and all they want to do is get them in the sack and he couldn’t fuck you if you were dead.”

 

The half sentinel laughed as he caught Garrison’s face in one big hand as he continued his rough fondling, increasing his grip and enjoying the look of pain, but angry that the officer hadn’t cried out. With a chuckle he whispered harshly against Garrison’s ear, “Going to get me a taste of you, soldier boy,” and his tongue swiped across the side of Garrison’s face and down across his jaw. The taste of him, the combination of sweat, blood, and scent was intoxicating.

 

Cole snapped, “Maggot, MAGGOT!” The half sentinel straightened slightly then reeled back as Garrison managed to head butt him in the face. The half sentinel staggered, his nose broken and bleeding, and then with a roar he punched Garrison. The blow knocked the man to the floor, and still tied to the chair he was unable to avoid the kick to the stomach.

 

Cole stood watching and then turned on his heels and started up the steps out of the cellar, “As much as I would like to watch, Garrison, I have things to do.” He paused. “Maggot.” The man looked up from his bound victim. “You can do what you want, but stop short of killing him. I want him alive and intact for the moment, but make sure that Chief gets our message. Enjoy yourself.”

 

As he went up the stairs he heard the dull thud of fist and boot meeting flesh then the tearing of clothes.

 

“Mr Cole,” Lionel Jones said, his Welsh accent more pronounced by his nerves. “The officer, he, Maggot-”

 

“Mr Maggot knows the line that can’t be crossed, but of course, if the good Captain’s men don’t do what we ask then they might need more of an incentive.”

 

Lionel watched him go, feeling sick. He had to get out of here, but Cole was a vicious bastard, and he knew that he would be killed out of hand if he went to the coppers. But then there might be someone who would listen. Mentally he worked out he couldn’t get to the smoke until Thursday; he could only pray it wouldn’t be too late. London might just give him a way out.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Chief went through the car. He could scent traces of his guide and Reilly, whose body had been found in the woods, his brains blown out. The scent had stopped back at the road, further on where the barrier had been found.

 

“They have the Warden.”

 

Actor put a hand onto Chief’s shoulder. “We’ll get him back.”

 

The Indian didn’t reply, but he made an oath then that whoever was responsible were dead men.

 

0-0-0-0

 

Jim Ellison arrived two hours later; Blair could only begin to imagine how Chief was reacting to his unbonded guide being taken. A phone call from Colonel Edwards had sent them to the Manor. As an investigator, Jim’s skills would be important. Besides, with Ellison there, Major Worth wouldn’t be able to call for a complete lock down of the Manor, which would have lead to the cons breaking out. If anyone could get Garrison back alive, it would be his own men.

 

During the drive down, Jim questioned his guide about the last meeting, in particular what he had seen when they had come out of the café. Already he was beginning to get a bad feeling about Reilly; the man was dead, but could have been in on the kidnapping and then become a loose end.

 

They arrived, and immediately, Blair crossed to the Indian. One look brought him to a standstill, the raw emotions blazing in the guardian’s eyes demonstrating the overwhelming urge to protect his guide. Instantly, Blair knew that the there would be no way to control Chief when they found the men involved. The Guardian would want blood for blood. Blair suppressed a shudder. The Sentinel was a guardian, a tribal protector, yet the more he uncovered about them, the less clear it all was.   The Sentinel could also be an avenger and enforcer, pure and simple. The sentinel world was not quite what he had thought it was. He pushed the thought aside; he had a guardian to help, and he only prayed that Garrison was still alive.

 

0-0-0-0

 

It was an hour after they arrived that the Sergeant Major brought a cloth bag to the office, saying it had been found thrown over the wall.  Jim took it and opened it, drawing out a dark brown officer’s coat, easily recognised as Garrison’s, with blood on the lapel and shoulder. He exchanged a quick look with Blair before placing it on the table and stepping back. Chief touched it only with the tips of his fingers, his senses wide open as he filtered out the natural scent of his guide and the persistent aroma of the habitual cigarettes he smoked.  Abruptly his face hardened and his hand tightened on the jacket, his lips pulled back over his teeth in a snarl as he lifted his eyes to meet those of the other sentinel.

 

Actor cut across, “Don’t you think it’s time you told us what’s going on here?” He waved an elegant hand between Chief and Jim.

 

“It would be kind of nice to know,” Goniff put in.

 

Blair took a deep breath and exchanged a look with each sentinel.  Seeing the nod of agreement, he began, “It all starts with a sentinel or guardian and a guide...”

 

Blair had seen the initial disbelief shifting slowly to acceptance. He had expected a lot of questions, but Casino had just drawled, “Makes sense,” then the matter had been dropped for the more important one of getting the Warden back alive.

 

Even so, Blair was startled by the casual acceptance of the whole idea. These cons had accepted what academics had questioned and disputed. Seeing the puzzled look on the younger man’s face, Actor had taken pity on him. “We’ve all seen Chief do things that have saved our lives, he’s heard the enemy and seen them before any of us, it’s kept us and the Warden alive. All you’ve done is given it a name.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Jim closed the distance between him and Chief, Blair temporarily forgotten. “That other scent...”

 

“Robert Cole,” Chief answered and then his face grew ugly, “and Maggot.”

 

“Cole I know about, but Maggot?” Jim sounded puzzled.

 

“A real sadistic bastard, I thought I had killed him, he’s like us, but not.”

 

Chief’s eyes burning into Jim told it all, the man was a threat to all guides. Briefly returning his focus to the jacket, Chief stiffened, his face like stone.   Both men swore as they recognised the other scent impregnating the cloth, the unmistakeable, musky scent of semen. Without realising it he said the word out aloud.

 

“Maggot.” Goniff interrupted them, “Oh shit.”

 

Chief turned fast, hearing the increase in his friend’s heartbeat.

 

“Maggot said that he liked blonds, he made a play at me but Casino stopped him, he said then that he had never had an officer. I didn’t think any more about it at the time.” Horror and anger were evident as he finished, tightly, “The Warden’s blond.”

 

Blair closed the distance between him and Chief, seeing from the younger sentinel’s expression that he was at risk of falling into the void, overloading, but before he could reach him, Chief spun round making him take a step back. “Maggot and Cole, they don’t get out alive.” Looking up he met the eyes of his team mates, and even the placid Goniff nodded. When this was over so would be any threat to the Warden.

 

The telephone rang and Actor picked it up, mouthing “Cole,” after listening briefly.

 

“Yes, we have the jacket. How do we know that Garrison is still alive?”

 

_“You’ll have to take my word for it, Actor.”_

 

Both sentinels had moved closer so they could monitor the phone call. _“I want the diamonds, and don’t insult me by saying ‘what diamonds’. You have until Friday to get them, you’ll get a message then about the exchange.”_

 

“We’ll get them,” Actor said levelly.

 

_“Chief, recognise the scent?”_ Cole baited, _“Maggot had a little fun, your Officer is  none too friendly is he, or maybe it’s just not the right person. Maggot sent a message for Chief, this time he just jerked off on him, Garrison’s none the worse at the moment, but if you fuck with me then Maggot might just have to fuck with him, and-”_

 

Before he could finish the threat, Actor cut across him, “If anything happens to the Warden, if you let Maggot loose on him, you won’t be able to run far enough, Cole.” The Italian conman never lost his temper, but those words were said with an icy fury that none of them had ever heard before.

 

Cole put the phone down, and for the first time felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. If that had been Chief he would have expected it, but such fury from Actor was surprising.  He might have seriously underestimated the connection between Garrison and his men. He had thought they merely tolerated their officer, but it seemed that they must really like their hard-assed, no-nonsense West Point officer. He would get the diamonds or he would be dead, the Gorillas would not let them walk away after this. He couldn’t allow any mistakes in his plan.


	9. Chapter 9

 

0-0-0-0

 

London – The smoke

Jack Anderson was polishing the glasses in the bar of the Carpenters Arms; the deal with the Yank had fallen through, although a few men he knew had disappeared so the Yank might have employed them. He had given his son a heads up on the kidnap, so... His thoughts trailed off as Lionel Jones walked in the bar; the Welsh man looked like death on two legs.

 

“Gov, can I talk to you?”

 

Jack waved his sons back, and told Jones to follow him into the back room.

“What is it?”

 

Lionel hesitated and then in a gush told him what had happened, “This Yank officer, they’ve beaten him up and Maggot, he’s all over him.”

 

He saw the blank look on Jack’s face, “You know,” he muttered, then cowered back as he saw the flash of understanding.

 

“This Yank, where is he?” Jack demanded.

 

“Robertson’s Estate.”

 

“Maggie, get me a pad and paper.” His wife saw the grim look, and handed them over quickly. Jack brought them down with a bang on the table, and snapped, “Get drawing, and then you’re going back.”

 

“No, I can’t, they...”

 

“You’re going back, otherwise, Lionel, you’re going to get your feet wet in the Thames. You’re going to get that Yank officer out, then you can bugger off wherever you want.” His voice became soft and dangerous, “If I find out that you did a bunk without helping him, I will hunt you down and kill you, understand?  This is personal, the Yank is family.”

 

Lionel nodded, his hand shaking so much he broke the point of the pencil, only to have another pressed into his hands.

 

“Bert, get this down to Rodney, and take some of the men with you. I want that place surrounded.” He looked at Lionel, “What are you waiting for?”

 

0-0-0-0

 

0-0-0-0

 

Twelve miles outside  London.

 

The house was set in its own grounds; it had been a prep school which had been evacuated to the Norfolk countryside.  Lionel Jones made his way down to the cellar and unlocked the door. His instructions from Cole were to kill the American if he tried to escape, but he had other instructions from his boss, a man he would never cross. Jack Anderson had told him that he had to release the American and make sure that he got away from the house. Lionel was scared. Whatever he did, someone was going to be after his hide. In the end he decided to free the American and then leave him to his own devices, getting the hell out of here before Cole got back. He would head north to Wales, and lose himself in the small villages there.

 

He swore harshly in Welsh when he saw the condition the captive was in. Maggot had got to him again last night by the look of it. Blood covered his face from a cut in the hairline, his mouth was bleeding and his shirt was torn, showing skin that was burned or bleeding. Putting a hand out, Lionel shook him.  The man stirred, and a moment later looked up with glazed green hazel eyes, trying to pull away as recognition dawned.

 

“I am not going to hurt you, Yank, just free you and then you’re on your own.”

 

“Why?” the one word was slurred.

 

“Don’t ask questions,” Lionel snapped and pulled him forward to undo the cuffs. He dragged him to his feet, manhandling the slightly taller man up the stairs, across the kitchen and out of the back door.  The injured man halted as the bright light burned his sensitive eyes, and Jeffries gave him a hard shove that sent him staggering forward.

 

“Get the fuck out of here while you can, head that way and…” he paused, “good luck.”

 

Lionel was in the car and pulling away from the house when another car drew up and he saw Cole and Maggot through the windscreen. Lionel jammed his foot down hard, fear making him reckless, and he slammed through the metal gates at the end of the drive, not waiting to open them. A car blocked the road and he swerved only to end up in the ditch, his head ringing. He looked up groggily straight into a face that promised his death. There was the sound of a click and a switchblade was in his face. All he could do was jerk a thumb back at the house, “I got him out, told him to make a run for it.”

 

If he expected gratitude he was mistaken. “You could have taken him with you.”  A hand grabbed his hair and he was smashed forward into the steering wheel and knocked out cold.

 

Jim and Chief took the lead, starting out across the grounds into the woods. The wind was blowing into their faces and Chief could already scent his guide, and the copper tang of his blood. As he began to run, his movements became more fluid as the Apache Guardian came forward and the man that was Chief was submerged. At his side, Jim Ellison felt the change in himself. Usually it was only triggered by danger to his own guide, but Sentinel fed on Sentinel, powering his need to protect, these were stealers of guides, would never be allowed that chance again.

 

 

0-0-0-0

 

Garrison was breathing harshly, the pain in his ribs making it hard to run, but he kept pushing himself. He didn’t know why the Welshman had rescued him but he knew that if he was caught, he was dead. There was no way that Cole could allow him to live, his only chance was to escape the grounds and get to civilization.

 

Out of nowhere, a wall loomed in front of him, seven feet tall with broken bottles embedded on the top, and he swore.  He forced himself to run parallel to it, the pain in his body sapping his strength, he had to get over it soon, or he wouldn’t have the energy to make it. Desperately, he struggled on as he searched for some way across, and finally found a tree growing near enough to the wall to hold out the hope that he could use it to get over.  He had hauled himself up the branches and was just starting to pull himself across when a hand caught his foot, tugging him back down. He kicked, hearing a grunt of pain, and his foot was released. Clawing his way up, not even daring to look back, he knew he had to get over the wall.  The hand grabbed again, caught and held as it pulled him back down, and the branch he was clinging to snapped and he could do nothing to break his fall.  Landing heavily on his attacker he managed to bring his elbow down on the man’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. He was almost on his feet when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He tried to duck, but was hit by a gun barrel that raked across his head and sent him pitching sideways. Senses reeling, he tried to clamber up to his knees, but a savage kick to the chest lifted him off the ground, throwing him sideways. His attempt to roll clear was thwarted by his attacker who was now on him, kicking viciously, and all he could do was try to protect his head as he pulled himself into a ball.  His assailant’s laugh was unmistakeable: Maggot. When the beating stopped, Garrison looked slowly up, the pain making any movement agony. A face came into view, and he tried to focus, but a fist lashed out and it was the last thing he knew.

 

Josh Butler backed away, “Come on, Maggot, get it over with, kill the bastard.”

 

But Maggot just laughed, the light in his eyes insane, “I’ve never had me an officer,” and he began to claw at Garrison.

 

Suddenly his head snapped round as he was hit, the momentum knocking him off the injured man, and he and his attacker landed on the ground. Maggot rolled but his opponent gained his feet first.

 

“Indian, you’re a bit late, your guide, nice and tasty,” Maggot licked at a splash of Garrison’s blood that was on his hand, “real nice, you tasted him yet, breed?”

 

Chief ignored the taunt, moving so that his body was between the Warden and his attacker. First, protect the guide, second, kill the threat.

 

“Breed,” Maggot spat, “you tried to kill me before, what makes you think you can do it now?”  He dropped into a fighting crouch.

 

All that remained of Chief was the physical form; his soul was now that of an Apache warrior, a Guardian. The knife he was holding was the bonding blade, and Maggot was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet. 

 

Actor and Goniff were on their knees beside Garrison, leaning over him so they could examine him.  He had several long cuts across his body where Maggot had slashed his clothing, not caring if he cut the flesh under it, but thankfully none of them were too deep, and they would heal. Actor’s main concern was that Garrison was out cold. With the previous concussion, his current unconscious state didn’t bode well for him.

 

Butler was caught by Casino, the dark-haired safecracker bringing him crashing down as he tried to escape into the woods. Two quick blows fuelled by anger and worry over their CO had subdued him.

 

Jim Ellison had seen that the other sentinel had his guide and his foe, now all he had to do was find Cole. The man was near, he could scent him. He paused for a heartbeat, his head swinging from one side to another, and then with a snarl he took off into the woods. Blair shot Casino a look, “Go after him, kid, we’re okay here.”

 

Blair was having trouble keeping up with his sentinel. The Gorillas would take care of Chief and Garrison, but Jim would need him; his sentinel was in full hunting mode, and nothing could stop him.

 

Suddenly Blair was hit sideways and brought down hard, he rolled and was on his feet only to be tripped and Cole was on him, a gun pressed against his head and a hand in his hair pulling him upright.

 

“You’re my ticket out of here.” Cole snarled, and swung round in a slow three-sixty with his human shield. “Come out Ellison, or…”

 

“Or what?” the word was whispered in his ear. Before Cole could pull the trigger, the sentinel broke his neck. Blair pulled away, turning quickly to face his sentinel even as Jim let the body drop to the ground.

 

The sentinel stepped over it as if it were nothing, his head tilting slightly as he wrapped his senses round his Guide, and in one stride closed the distance between them. Blair took one step back, braced himself and caught his sentinel with a hard right to the jaw. The blow rocked the sentinel, forcing him to stagger back a step.

 

“What you do that for, Darwin?”  Jim growled as he rubbed his jaw.

 

“Because you knew he was here, and because I don’t like being a frigging decoy.”

 

Jim swore under his breath, “Sorry, Sandburg, I...” he trailed off and shrugged.

 

“Okay, big guy, we’ll talk about it,” He heard a scream, “We’d best get back to Chief.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

The Apache Guardian moved forward, Maggot was a good knife fighter, but Chief had always been better, and in this sentinel form the Guardian was unbeatable. The two men traded blows, but the Guardian was only playing as his knife cut into Maggot, slashes to his left arm, to his chest, and his leg, each one mirroring the slash dollars on his guide. Then Maggot lunged forward. The Guardian twisted away from the knife and brought his own up in one swift, deadly blow, straight to the stomach. With a gasp of agony, the knife fell from Maggot’s hand. The Guardian took one step closer, his eyes burning into Maggot’s as he ripped up with the knife, from gut to chest, all the time his gaze never leaving the man that he was killing. Maggot tried to claw at him but his hands fell away, and as the knife was pulled out he dropped to the ground.

 

The Guardian turned, knife down by his side, blood dripping off the blade. The other Gorillas had seen Chief kill, but never with such cold fury. He walked to where Garrison was still lying unconscious on the ground. Goniff put a hand on Actor’s shoulder to keep him down with Garrison, and with a deep shuddering breath stepped over the fallen man to block Chief from getting to him.

 

“Put the knife down, Chiefie, you don’t need it.”  The slightly-built Englishman moved to block the Indian as he would have gone round him. He met the dark eyes head on.  “I don’t know how this thing works, the kid didn’t really explain it, you have to protect the Warden, that’s okay, and we can understand and help you do that. Hell, we don’t want to see him hurt.” He paused to take a breath. “You have to put that knife down now, right, the Warden needs _you_ , Chief, not him.” 

 

Casino eased his gun up slightly, he didn’t want to have to use it, but there was no way he was going to let Chief or whatever the hell he was gut Goniff.

 

“Keep down, Warden.”

 

Garrison had come round, his head was pounding and nausea rolled through him as he tried to push away Actor’s hands and get up, but in the end all he could do was turn to face the voices.

 

“C-c-ch-ief,” he swallowed, forcing the words out, “Drop the knife.”

 

The Guardian was suddenly replaced by the man. “Warden,” he handed the knife to Goniff in passing and knelt by the side of the injured man.  His hand hovered uncertainly as he saw the extent of the damage and he looked up at the others as they gathered round them. Seeing the nod from Actor and Goniff, he placed one hand on Garrison’s shoulder and carefully supported his head with the other. He could feel the life force of his guide, which had nothing to do with the breath of his body or the pounding of his heart. That was nothing more than the mechanics of life, but the life force was what made Garrison the man he was, what made him his guide.

 

His senses snapped and closed round Garrison, yet at the last moment he pulled back. The bond was achingly close, but he could not go ahead. When he bonded it had to be with Garrison’s consent. Chief looked up and watched as Jim and Blair came back to the clearing.

 

Jim took in the scene, Maggot’s body laid out in the attitude of violent death.

“Cole’s dead, it’s finished now.”

 

“Rest, Warden,” Chief said softly, and the officer’s eyes slipped shut as his sentinel projected the need to rest, the assurance of safety and protection to his guide. He knew that Garrison would sleep for several hours. When he woke, Chief would have to explain what had happened, but for now that could wait.

0-0-0-0

 

0-0-0-0

 

The Manor

Blair settled opposite Garrison. The officer had been bloody-minded and was up rather than resting, leaning back in his chair with his green-brown eyes fixed unwaveringly on Sandburg, in his hand was the bonding knife.

 

Suddenly he brought the knife down hard and embedded it in the desk, making Blair jump. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on, Sandburg?”

 

In the library Jim jumped up only to be blocked by Chief. “This is between guides, Ellison, so take a seat.” The Indian’s body language was plain; Jim would have to go through him to get to the office.

 

“Well, Captain,” Blair shook his head. “I really don’t know where to begin.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “When I first started my PhD all I knew was that a British explorer called Richard Burton had discovered something he called Sentinels, deep in the jungle of Peru. I wanted to prove that they existed and were not just an obscure reference in a Victorian book. Captain, Sentinels do exist. Chief is a living proof of them.”

 

“And you know this how?” Garrison’s tone was cold and detached.

 

“Because I’ve been working with a British Professor, and he’s been helping me find an American Sentinel.”  Blair leaned forward, “The sentinel is a guardian who has enhanced senses, he can hear things no one else can, feel things, taste things, and follow a scent better than a hound dog. Think the ultimate soldier, but they are the tribal guardians, protecting the tribe, helping with the hunt.” 

 

“Ellison’s a Sentinel.” He had made the connection.

 

Blair took a steadying breath, “Exactly. The Army found him for me.”  Garrison seemed on the ball, but how he would react to the news about his part in the plan would be another thing.

 

“The sentinel needs a guide to help him with his senses, to prevent him being side-tracked and lost in all the sensory input he gets.”  He paused, “I am a guide, and so are you, Captain.”

 

“Never!” Garrison spat the word back at Blair as he leaned forward so fast that Blair pulled back, startled by the violent response.

 

“You’re a guide; I don’t know how it happens, but for each sentinel there is a guide. Call it destiny. Sentinel and guide come together. Remember when you first met Jim and you shuddered? That was because he was checking your vital signs when he was asking you questions about the girls, and you felt him. I can’t but you can, you’re a guide, but a different kind to me, because you have a different sentinel. Chief is your sentinel.” There, he had said it.

 

Garrison got to his feet, and walked away from the table to lean against the window frame, looking out across the park. He thought over what he had heard and what he knew. Chief was the team’s point man, he seemed to hear and see things before any of them, as team leader Garrison had lost track of the number of times that Chief had saved them by having that talent, but it appeared to have a price. He suppressed a shudder. Maggot had shown him what that price was, and it wasn’t one he was willing to pay.  

 

Blair moved up behind him, careful not to touch the officer even when his instincts were telling him to lay a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, “Have you ever been touched by him?”

 

Garrison spun round, and the expression on his face was one of barely controlled anger. “You think I would let him touch me? You’re sick, Sandburg!”  Blair put a hand out only to be pushed back, catching himself in time on the edge of the desk.

 

“Cole told me all about Sentinels, _Doctor_ ,” Garrison spat the title at him like an insult. “Maggot showed me all too well what this bond is all about, and get this, I am not playing your sick perverted little games, Sandburg, and if you’re screwing Ellison, then get the hell out of his life before you destroy it. He’s an officer and he doesn’t need your sort bringing him down. Now get out of my office.”

 

“Captain, I didn’t mean,” Blair floundered to a halt, “Please let me explain. I-”

 

He back peddled as Garrison moved towards him, only just getting out ahead of the slamming door.

 

Looking up he saw Jim and Chief leaning against the banisters. He closed his eyes. How the hell was he going to explain this to Chief? The Indian’s face was emotionless. Slowly, head down, he started up the stairs, and when he got level with him put a hand out, resting it on the Indian’s shoulder, a little surprised that he allowed the touch. “It’s going to be okay, Chief.”

 

“Sure, I heard the Warden, I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t throw me back in prison.”

 

“He won’t, he’s frightened, that’s all.”

 

“The Warden, frightened?” Chief said and shook his head, "He don’t know the meaning of the word.”

 

“Yeah, he is, after what happened with Maggot, and whatever Cole told him, you’re just going to have to be patient with him.”

 

Chief nodded, then answered softly, “I just don’t know how much time I have left.”


	10. Chapter 10

The Manor

Chief was looking out of the window, watching as his guide walked alone. The Warden had waved off their concern and followed it up with a few choice words when Goniff tried to tag along with him. The Indian was all too aware how badly the talk between the Warden and Sandburg had gone, but the younger man had only given him a sop of comfort when he had said, “Give him time, Chief.”  But now time was getting away from him, and the need to bond was getting worse each day. Initially, the fact that his guide was injured had stayed his hand, the smell of the blood from his healing wounds was enough to dampen down the need. But now Garrison was recovering, and the need was growing again inside him, the need to remove Maggot’s scent from his guide, replacing it with his own. Chief shook his head to try and clear his thoughts but all he could focus on was that Maggot had had his hands all over his guide, and the need to re-enforce his ownership. A mocking voice in his head said _what ownership; he’s never been yours to start with._

 

Chief swore and went out into the grounds, opening up his senses to search for his guide, but he found the scent hard to detect and began to lose himself in the hunt.

 

“Looking for someone?”  Garrison’s voice caught him off guard, and he spun round. His guide was standing near one of the trees. Chief quickly wrapped his senses round him.

 

“Out for a walk, that’s all, Warden.”

 

“Sure,” the tone was mocking.

 

Chief looked down, breaking contact with the green grey eyes that seemed to look straight through him to every sin he had ever committed, the eyes belonging to the one man he never wanted to let down.

 

“Dr Sandburg has some interesting things to say, he told me you’re a ‘Guardian’.” Garrison fished out one of his habitual cigarettes and lit it, keeping Chief waiting. He took a pull on it and then exhaled the smoke slowly, “and that I am a ‘guide’. Now he tried to explain how it works, but you know what? I don’t give a damn, because I already know all about it. Maggot and Cole made it really clear. How they,” he gestured with his cigarette towards the Manor, “were ready to hand me over to the Gestapo, and you stopped Actor putting a bullet through my head, because you wanted to jump my bones.”

 

“Warden, it wasn’t like that, you can’t believe what he told you.”

 

The officer’s laugh was sardonic, “You see, Chief, I remember something, only to start with I didn’t place the voice. It was Actor telling Cole how he was going to give me to the Gestapo for a way out of there. So was that a lie?”

 

“No.”

 

Garrison took another pull on his cigarette, his eyes icy cold and bitter.

 

“Warden, we had to say that, they would have killed you, we had to give them a reason for keeping you alive, and that was the only one we had.”  Chief normally was a man of few words but he knew that if he didn’t talk and the Warden walked away, he would lose his guide forever.  “Cole had a gun to your head, Warden, he was threatening to kill you unless we gave him the diamonds. He saw through us, that you’re one of us, you have been for a while now. So Actor had to shoot him, only as he was hit he pulled the trigger, you’d started to pull away, and the bullet creased your forehead and you went down. We thought we’d lost you.” There was a despairing note to the Indian’s voice. "That’s why none of G12 survived, Warden. We thought he had killed you. Then Goniff saw you were alive and we had other things on our mind than disposing of Coles and the other.” Chief could see that he was getting through to the Warden on that score, now he had to put him straight. “The bond isn’t sex, Captain.”

 

“Huh.” Garrison was wrong footed by the statement, his mind still thinking about what had happened in that bombed out house.

 

“It isn’t, Maggot would have been the same person even if he wasn’t a Sentinel, and the true bond is one of respect. What he tried to do—” Chief saw the look that crossed the Warden’s face. It was there only a second and then the controlled neutral look was back as Garrison cut across what he was trying to tell him.

 

“To be honest, I don’t have time for this, and by the sound of it I am not interested either. I don’t go that way, but maybe I should have expected that from Cons,” Garrison sneered.

 

Chief could sense the tremors running through his guide and could only guess at what Maggot had done to him. Whatever it was, he had only just stopped short of raping Garrison in that cellar, and it had shaken the Warden badly. He had seen the man come through the most savage beatings on a mission, but this was different, and he didn’t have the time to try and talk the Warden round. The need to bond was kicking and it had to be soon, or else he would burn out from the inside, and there would be nothing of the Guardian left in him.

 

He was brought back to the present as Garrison said, “All I need to know is if you can function or if I am going to have to replace you, because I am sure as hell not going to bend over for you.” The words were cold, level and unfeeling, just like right at the beginning of their involvement when the Warden had read them the riot act after Wheeler had tried to kill him.

 

“I can function, Warden.” He just managed to grind the words out and watched as the officer field stripped his cigarette out of force of habit and start back to the Manor.  Hammering through his mind was the thought that that was it, the Warden was rejecting him, and he couldn’t make it clearer. He understood why, that the Warden needed time, but he didn’t have that time. Thought was action and he lunged.

 

The next second a punch to the gut took the air from Chief’s lungs and he was pinned against a tree, the Warden’s arm round his throat, a slight pressure away breaking his neck. The only way he could get free was to use the blade he carried, but he couldn’t hurt the officer, and anyway he was under no illusion that the Warden would not break his neck the minute he went for the knife. That was the thing that all the Gorillas forgot, living so close to him. Garrison was a trained killer and he had proved it on more than one mission when he silently took out the German guards.

 

His voice was a harsh whisper in the Indian’s ear. “No way, Chief, will I give in to that, I am your Commanding Officer, your leader, and there is no way I am rolling over for you or any one.”

 

Chief closed his eyes, and felt the bonding between them expanding, it was as if time folded in on itself in that split second, and suddenly he understood what his grandfather had been trying to tell him all those years ago.  His guide was a warrior and he would lead and the Guardian would follow, he would protect his guide, stand at his shoulder, and follow him to death if needed.

 

That was how it would be, how it had always been for his people. If the Warden had meekly allowed the bond it would have died stillborn. Only the power of the guide made it possible, the life force that flowed through a true guide of his tribe. In Garrison he was home, the American Officer had the heart and soul of an Apache Warrior.

 

Slowly Garrison removed his grip and stepped back, “This ends now, Chief, get back to the others.” The officer took a step back to allow him to leave, and then pulled back as Chief’s hand came round. Instead of his usual switchblade he was holding the bonding knife, the blade still stained with the blood of Maggot.

 

“You don’t understand, Warden, I don’t have any choice in this, you’re my guide and nothing but death is going to change that.”  He pushed out his senses, and they wrapped like a cocoon round the other man, there was nothing that he couldn’t read from the man in front of him, no move that Garrison made that he couldn’t stop before it had even started. The bond expanded within him, this time he was unable, unwilling to pull back; if he failed this time it would burn the very life from his body, consuming him like a roaring fire, leaving only a husk behind.

 

“Chief?” Garrison moved forward, his concern now over-riding his anger. The Indian’s eyes had gone black, it was like looking into a void. Suddenly the knife came up fast, and the blade edge rested against Garrison’s throat, all it would take was a slight pressure and a twist of Chief’s hand, and his throat would be cut before he could react.  Through his career Garrison had looked after his men, but he knew that the odds were he wouldn’t live through this war; some of the Commandos that he had worked with were already six feet under. He would give up his life to keep his men safe, for him the responsibility to his men was total, and he felt his attitude shift.  If Chief needed this then he would help him. Somehow he knew that without him, Chief would not live through the year. He nodded, not putting his acceptance into words, but knowing by the tilt of the head that Chief had understood it.

 

“This is the bonding knife, it gives and takes life,” the slightest change in pressure and blood began to run down Garrison’s neck from the kiss of the blade.  “Blood is the purification of the soul and the heart.” Chief took one step closer, with a quick movement he pulled the knife away from Garrison’s and used it to cut his own hand across the palm. He clutched and then opened his hand and placed the bloody palm against the Warden’s throat. Through his hand he could feel the very life force of his guide as their blood mixed.

 

Chief sent a prayer of thanks to his ancestors, the bond could finally take place. “Our bond, Warden, is not perverted, as Maggot would have made it, it is the true bond, entered into with respect and honour.”

 

Chief could feel the increase in heartbeat. In anyone else it would be pure panic, but Garrison had it controlled.  Pride in his guide expanded through him as he continued, “What he tried to do cannot harm your soul.”  With his bloody hand he moved up to touch the side of the Warden’s face, feeling him flinch but not pull back even as his grey green eyes flashed a warning. Chief’s relief was great - it was a step forward that Garrison had accepted his Guardian’s touch. “You have to release your fears, you are no longer alone.”

 

For a brief moment Garrison closed his eyes, his heart beat slowing, and when he opened them again Chief was back in control, and the Indian could see that while the fear was still there, it no longer controlled the Warden. He allowed his senses to open up, this time balancing himself with the presence of his guide for the first time ever and his face lit up with a smile. 

 

Garrison took a steadying breath. He was still hanging in there, just, by his fingertips, when all his instincts were telling him to break away from the Indian.

 

Chief reassured him, “I am not going to hurt you, Warden, or do anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”

 

The bond was in place, but getting the Warden to accept the closer contact needed to reinforce the bond would take time, given what Maggot had done to him.

 

Chief stepped forward so that he was right against his guide, Garrison’s scent  was intoxicating, as he  imprinted the  scent  replacing what had only been a surface impression.

 

“What are you doing?” Garrison demanded.

 

Chief felt his guide pull away, and had to stop himself from grabbing at him. He saw the need for Garrison to create a distance between them, and how uncomfortable the officer was with him that close.

 

Chief nodded, “I’ve scented you.” He paused, avoiding the look on the other man’s face. “I can find you anywhere in the grounds, my abilities are centred round you.” 

 

“Back at that estate, you found me, surely-”

 

“What I did then is only a fragment of what I am now capable of, Warden.” He cocked his head. “We’d best be getting back, Goniff is breaking into your office.” A faint smile touched his lips, “He’s after your scotch.”

 

Garrison walked past him heading back to the Manor, then halted. Chief heard him take a deep breath and then over his shoulder say.  “Then what are you waiting for, Guardian?” There and then Garrison made a vow never to use the hated title of Sentinel. Chief was a Guardian and in time he might be able to accept that, but a Sentinel - never.

 

Chief caught up with his guide smiling, falling into step with him. He was not stupid enough to think that they had done anything but scratch the surface of their relationship as Guardian and Guide, but it was a start.


	11. Chapter 11

London

 

Inspector Evans stood beside the body in the morgue, facing Captain Ellison and Dr Sandburg across the body of a new victim. “She was found last night, after the air raid, her name is Catherine Wheeler, aged 24, a waitress at the People’s Café. The killer is working on a pattern, one killing every month, this time we have to get him, because, gentlemen,” he looked from Blair to Jim, “I am not going to let another woman die on my watch.” Gently he pulled the sheet over her face. “So far we have managed to keep this secret, but there is a reporter for the local socialist paper sniffing around, in her hands this story could cause untold harm.” Evans pointed to a box of clothing, “All her clothes are here, I’ll leave you to it.”

 

Jim waited until the door had closed behind the Englishman before speaking, “We’d best get to business, Darwin. Time is running out on this one.”

 

It was then that Jim felt the other sentinel, identifying him easily. “Chief.”

Blair smiled his welcome, his gaze flicking from Garrison and Chief, trying to see evidence of the bonding; the Indian’s body language was more relaxed. But Blair moved back slightly as he saw the look that Garrison shot him. He would have expected hostility from the sentinel not from the guide, but then this was a totally new type of pairing.

 

“What can I do for you, Garrison?”  Jim put in tensely, as he felt the hostility from the other officer.

 

“I am here to see the MO, but thought you might want to know - it might not be anything, but in the motor pool, a Sergeant Fleming, I recognise him from the pub that night, he was the only other American, and he was talking to Jack Anderson, and if that place is as anti-American as you think, then why was he there? Just a thought.” He paused. “Ellison, Sandburg.” Garrison turned to leave only to have Jim call him back.

 

“I thought you couldn’t remember what he looked like,” Jim put in.

 

A look of disgust flickered across Garrison’s face, “Chief did his Sentinel voodoo last night, it’s Fleming you’re looking for.”

 

He was almost at the door when Blair called to him. “Is everything okay?”  Garrison didn’t turn back or acknowledge the question as he went through the swing doors; Chief just nodded to them and followed him out.

Jim smiled, “I know what you said to him, Darwin, but I think that the Captain is still royally pissed off at you, if you want that chapter you’d best make nice with him.” He patted Blair’s shoulder then added, “But remember he can kill you with his bare hands quicker than you can blink.”

 

Blair gulped, “I think that chapter can wait for a while.” 

 

0-0-0-0

 

London

 

Jim Ellison, dressed in civilian clothes, was sitting in the window of one of the small tea shops. As he observed Sergeant Fleming, he slowly cast his senses out, wrapping them around the man. The sudden blast of a car horn nearly sent him into a black void, but the touch of his guide’s hand brought him back, and he registered how the combination of car oil and cigarettes was unmistakably fused to Fleming’s own scent. Jim kicked himself for not detecting the man earlier, before recalling that each time they had taken a Jeep out, Fleming had not been present. Although it wouldn’t stand up in court, Jim knew that he had his killer. Now all he had to do was find the proof and the motive. No one killed without a motive, a need. Reaching for his cup he drained the tea, left money on the table, tucked his paper under his arm and began to follow Fleming as he left the motor pool.

 

Blair was going to the Black Bull; a phone call from Goniff had set up the meeting with his father.

 

Blair shook hands with Mr Anderson, and was waved to a seat. “Rodney told me to expect you, Mr Sandburg, he said it was to do with the murder of that poor kid,” he shook his head sadly. "She was a nice girl.” His face hardened, “You don’t think it was Captain Garrison?” his tone went chilly, “He might have been in the pub with her, but there is no way he would have hurt her, right officer and a gent that one,” he mused, then added “for a Yank, that is.”

 

Blair let a smile show, he could get to like this guy. “We think we know who the killer might be, but we need to know what he was doing in the pub. His name is Fleming.” Seeing a flash of recognition, he continued, “We’re not looking to bring you down, all we want is him.” Leaning in closer, Blair added, “There is a reporter who is getting too close on the murder, if she publishes then Americans and Brits will be at each other’s throats, and you know the kind of thing that Lord Haw Haw will say. We need to get him, fast.”

 

“Fleming is dealing black market, the kid was his girl friend, you know - chocolate bars and stockings, only she broke up with him.” He nodded towards his wife, “Sheila talked her into dropping him, he was rough, liked a bit of pain with his pleasure if you know what I mean.”

 

“You think he killed her because she knew too much?”

 

“There have been worse reasons, Mr Sandburg.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

Jim got out of the car, briefcase in hand and Blair tucked close to him. Looking up, he could see Chief standing against the window of Garrison’s office. The officer would know they were coming.

 

“Remember, Blair, you don’t say anything about Sentinels and Guides. Garrison has unbent enough to start a bond, but he’s not the touchy-feely type.”

 

“And you were, big guy?”

 

Jim shot him a look, which softened rapidly. “Sure, Darwin, compared to Garrison, I was a regular marshmallow.” Then Jim was all business again.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

“You were right, Garrison, Fleming was involved, it appears that he and Carol were lovers until she broke it off. He was violent, gave her a black eye on a couple of occasions. Mrs Anderson talked her into walking away. But it appears that he must have thought that she knew enough to get him put away, so he killed her. He didn’t have to break in; she knew him, and opened the door.”

 

“The other girls, is there a connection?”  Garrison lit a cigarette, offering one to Jim, who accepted.

 

“One of the other women was a close friend of hers, he must have thought that she’d talked to her and he killed her. The Airwoman and the others were camouflage, to hide those two. When he saw you with her, it was a perfect decoy.  We’re going to bring him down, but we need your help. We have to catch him with his hand in the till.”

 

“A con.”

 

Jim gave a grin, “I hear your men are good at that.”

 

“Chief, have Actor come in.”

 

0-0-0-0

 

48 hours later

Inspector Evans waited until he had all his men in place and then launched the raid, even as all hell was let loose in the warehouse where Fleming was just finding out that he had been trapped.  The Sergeant was dragged out, and into the police van, struggling and trying to protest his innocence.

 

The next morning Edwards called Jim and Blair into his office. Instead of thanking them, he threw a paper in front of them. Both men could clearly see it was headed _The Socialist_ , and was hand printed. It described an American officer killing the working class girls of Whitechapel, referring to an American Jack the Ripper and demanding.

 

  _Is this the reason we are fighting? to have the women of Britain butchered by American killers and rapists?_

 

“Inspector Evans is working on finding out who publishes this rag. The Brits had a D notice out which means that once he does, the publisher is seeing the inside of a prison cell.  Evans thinks that this is just a warning shot, so far none of these broadsheets have appeared on the streets. The publisher just wants us to know they have the story. There’s a bigger game going on now.”

 

“So it was for nothing, Colonel.”  Blair sounded bitter.

 

Edwards looked at Blair, his gaze piercing, “That scum Fleming, killed women. Taking him off the street is not nothing, Mr Sandburg.” Seeing how the words had impacted on the younger man, he paused his point made. Then to Jim he said “You were expecting to return to the States. Your orders are changed, Captain, you’re now based in London until further notice. We have need of your talents and you can start with this. Fifth columnist are out there, and they have the perfect weapon, they can do real damage, if we let them build a wedge between the troops and the civilians it’s going to be felt right the way up to the Pentagon. There is a leak somewhere, someone tipped them off about Fleming and his murders, and I want that leak plugged, and I want those publishers caught before these broadsheets hit the streets” He paused. Tapping  the broadsheet, “and any more young women are killed.  You’re to work with Inspector Evans on this case. Good luck, gentlemen and keep me informed.”

 

That evening Blair sat on the bed and closed his eyes as he centred himself and went into the spirit world. It still upset him that Jim was not prepared to accept it, that when he tried to talk about it, all Jim would say was that he took his spirits in a glass.

 

The world round him changed, he was clothed as a Shaman, his hand resting on the head of a black panther, the symbol and spirit of his sentinel. Looking across the clearing he saw Chief, in the clothes of an Apache warrior, his guide at his side. Garrison could not be seen clearly, it was as if he were a ghost, but Blair recognised the uniform he wore as that of a Captain in the US Calvary of 1870’s. The next thing he knew Jim was forcing whisky down his throat, his usually stoic face now showing his concern for his guide.

 

But before Blair  could reassure his sentinel, there was a knock on the door. Jim gave his shoulder a squeeze and answered it.

 

The policeman was apologetic “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Inspector Evans would like you both to come to his office now.”

 

“Did he say why, constable?” Blair asked as he joined Jim at the door.

 

“Only to tell you there has been another one.”

 

Immediately Jim grabbed his coat and cap, and started out of the room with Blair on his heels. The younger man’s mind was whirling; they had the killer, Fleming had confessed so what the hell was happening? Whatever it was, life was just getting a hell of a lot more interesting.

 

0-0-0-0

 

August 1947 (Berlin).

 

General Richard Edwards closed his journal, another mission briefing, and as usual the odds were stacked against them. His story of  the second Blackout Killer would have to wait for another day; he had business to conclude.

 

Edwards watched as Lt Colonel Garrison returned with Lieutenant Alan Sharpe in tow, a knife shot past and embedded itself just in front of the Colonel’s face, in the dart board. Without batting an eyelid he reached up, pulled the knife out and tossed it back hilt first to his sentinel.

 

“That man tried to kill you,” Sharpe exclaimed, his hand clawing towards his side arm, only for it to drop away under the icy glare he got from the Colonel as the senior officer said. “If Chief wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have missed, Lieutenant.”

 

The Lieutenant was nervous, but then again the newly formed G13 wasn’t like any other unit in the theatre of intelligence. Sharpe looked round at the others in the room; the dark haired man called Chief, and past him to three other men gathered round a coffee pot.

 

 “Now, where,” Edwards broke off, “Colonel Garrison.” He waited while the Colonel brought his men under control. Sometimes, he mused to himself, it was like being the only sane person in an asylum.

 

“Okay, gentlemen, our mission today is …….”

 

The end

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but at the moment this is a standalone story, I got blocked after finishing this, and have been unable to continue the story.


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